Ice
by Rabiscar
Summary: Bellarke High School AU: "The boys continued to shoot pucks at her but she only skated faster, whirling around the ice in intricate serpentine step patterns. Bellamy watched with his eyes narrowed. He was annoyed but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. The girl could skate." Clarke is a figure skater & Bellamy is captain of the hockey team- they both need more ice time.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

Bellamy Blake charged out of the locker room followed by a horde of boys clad in pads and practice jerseys, all toddling on flat ground in their skates. He stepped into the arena and took a deep breath, relishing the smell of cold air and fresh ice. His smile faltered as he reached the rink.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Time to cool down and get off the ice, it's past 3:30, you're cutting into our time!"

A small blonde girl landed a double axel and turned to face him.

"Don't think so," she said evenly and skated towards him. "We're just starting, I booked the ice for a two hour block _starting_ at 3:30."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Clarke Griffin," she answered. "Captain of the skate-team." Her eyes dropped to the C on his jersey. "And let me guess, you'd be Bellamy Blake, captain of the hockey team?"

"Does this look like a curling broom to you?" he held up his stick.

"Not particularly," she commented drily. "Just trying to get the formalities out of the way but I guess I should have known better than to try."

"Right," Bellamy gritted his teeth. "Well let me formally tell you to get off the ice."

Clarke looked from him to the figure skaters behind her.

"You know what, I think we'll stay."

"No," Bellamy shook his head. "Not an option. Not sure if you noticed but I didn't formally _request_ you to leave, I formally _told_ you to leave."

"That's not how this is going to work," Clarke wrinkled her nose. "You might have authority over them," she nodded to the hockey players behind him. "But you don't have any authority over me."

"Wanna bet?" Bellamy asked. "I booked the rink. We've got a big game coming up, we need the ice time."

"So?" Clarke challenged. "They must have double booked us. We've got a big comp coming up, we need the ice time just as much."

"Sure," Bellamy scoffed. "But last time I checked, the hockey program takes priority over the skate program at this school so I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"Whatever the hell you want, huh?" Clarke looked him up and down. "That's the rules you want to play by?"

"Damn right," he nodded.

"Fine by me," Clarke sniffed. "I guess I'll do whatever the hell I want too," she put her hands on her hips. "Raven, Finn- go ahead and start warming up," she called over her shoulder. The two skaters behind her shrugged and took off, skating laps around the rink. Clarke turned her attention back to Bellamy.

"You practice in that half of the ice and we'll practice in this half," she nodded towards him.

"Yeah," Bellamy exhaled, "and what do you expect me to do with half a rink? I've got 18 guys out here."

"You figure it out, you're the captain, aren't you?" Clarke reminded him. "Why don't you set up pylons and do some skating drills?" She asked and surveyed his team appraisingly. "You guys look like you could use it."

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "So now the figure skater is a hockey coach too? Got any more advice for me?"

"It doesn't take a hockey coach to see you've got some sloppy skaters. What sort of defenseman can't even skate backwards?" she nodded towards a burly boy scrambling towards the net.

"Kovacevic can skate," Bellamy grunted but shot the boy a worried look.

"If you say so," Clarke raised her eyebrows. "Anyways, I'm not leaving."

"Fine," Bellamy set his lips in a firm line. "I'm not either."

"Fine," Clarke echoed him. "Just stay on your side of the ice." And with that she turned neatly on her blades and skated away.

Bellamy watched her go, her long blond hair streaming out behind her as she glided gracefully across the ice.

"Scotty, Bielsko," he barked. "Drag the net over to centre ice."

Scotty hesitated. "But then we'll be shooting _towards_ them."

"Exactly," Bellamy huffed at him. "Consider it a high stakes practice in aim."

What started out as a scrimmage with a few stray pucks sliding into the skate-team's end quickly devolved into half the hockey team just standing around and shooting at whichever figure skater appeared accessible. Slowly, the skate-team straggled off the ice, unwilling to go flying into the air in a toe loop when wrist-shots were being aimed at their feet. Only one figure skater remained- Clarke.

The boys continued to shoot pucks at her but she only skated faster, whirling around the ice in intricate serpentine step patterns and evading shots with crossovers around corners. She glared at them unflinchingly the entire time, her skates cutting sharp edges in the ice and her swift footwork leaving elaborate trace patterns.

Bellamy watched with his eyes narrowed and his hockey stick clutched across his body. He was annoyed. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit impressed. The girl could _skate. _

"Goddammit," he grunted. "We're not quitting practice for _one_ girl. We need the ice time," he glanced up at the clock. They only had an hour left of practice.

"Alright, quit shooting," he waved off his boys. "Hey!" he shouted. "Princess!" he skated furiously down the ice towards her.

"I thought I told you to stay on your side," she replied coolly.

"And I thought I told you to get the hell out of the rink," he bit back, stopping quickly and spraying her with ice.

"Nice," she said flatly and brushed the snow off her leggings before placing her hands firmly on her hips. They seemed to be running into a pattern.

"Your team is already in the locker room," Bellamy said through gritted teeth. "You'd be a lot better off if you followed them out," he brandished his stick.

"Why, what are you gonna do?" she jutted out her chin. "Drop your gloves?"

Bellamy swallowed. His eyes flitted to his team mates who were watching with interest. "Brave princess," he broke into a grin and shifted forward so he could tower over her. She tilted her head up to stare at him impudently, hands still on her hips and her toe pick ground into the ice.

"That's it," he said and reached towards her. "You're out of here." In one smooth motion he lifted her by the waist and straightened his arms to hoist her in the air.

She squealed in surprise but the sound quickly turned into ground out threats.

"Put me _down,_ Blake."

"Or what?" he asked and wrapped one arm around her waist while pulling her legs to his hip by tugging from behind her knees. "You're not in a position to be giving orders." He dipped her head backward while skating toward the boards.

She arched her back reflexively, balancing out her weight in the lift.

"I swear to God, Blake. If you drop me and I'm injured for this comp-"

"Then you won't be able to steal my ice time for the length of your recovery," he finished for her in a bored tone. "Hm, I think I'm going to drop you."

His arms gave way and she dropped an inch towards the ice. She gasped but at the last second he caught her and kept skating.

He came to a stop at the boards and straightened her out, lowering her to her feet. One arm firmly around her waist, he used the other arm to reach over the board and jerk the door open, before roughly shoving her through to the other side. He slammed the door shut between them and sized her up with a glare.

"You're an ass," she declared.

"And you're a pain in the ass."

"I'm just going to keep coming back out on the ice."

"Well I'm just going to keep carrying you back out here."

"You caught me off guard the first time, there's no way in hell you'll be able to catch me a second time."

"You think you're a faster skater than me?"

"I _know_ I'm a _better _skater than you."

"It's 18 vs 1, you sure you want to play tag?"

She sighed and bit her lip.

"We done here?" Bellamy asked and gestured between them.

"No," Clarke insisted. "This isn't over."

"It is for today," he called and started skating towards his team mates.

"Alright," he said when he reached them. "Get that net back at the end of the ice, let's scrimmage while we still have the time."

Clarke huffed and put her skate guards on, marching out of the rink with her hands balled into fists at her side. She wandered around the back offices until she found what she was looking for- the fuse box. She opened it up and hit the switch for the lights in the rink.

She smiled as she heard a chorus of surprised shouts coming from the ice.

"Let's see them try to chase the puck in the dark." 

* * *

The following day, Bellamy and Clarke sat side by side in the principal's office.

"It wasn't a mistake Miss Griffin, we booked you _both_ for the 3:30 time slot after school."

"What? But sir, why? This is so impractical, I had the ice booked first."

"Don't think so, princess. We've been practicing in that time slot every week since the beginning of the season," Bellamy jeered.

"Enough," Principal Jaha cut in. "Due to budget cuts, the school is no longer able to buy as much time at the public rink. You're going to have to make do and share the ice."

"But sir, it doesn't make sense. Why doesn't the boys' hockey team share the ice with the girls' hockey team? Then they could at least use the full rink together and train doing the same drills."

To his surprise, Bellamy found himself nodding along with Clarke's idea.

"The public rink has rules about how many athletes can take the ice at a given time. With the boys and girls' hockey teams together there would be 36 athletes on the ice- that's over capacity."

"So I'm stuck with her?" Bellamy groaned. "How are we supposed to share the ice, _and _get ready for the big game, its impossible."

Principal Jaha smiled. "That's something you'll have to work out on your own. Put your heads together, I'm sure you'll think of something."

"But sir!" they both intoned together.

"Enough," he said again. "I don't want to hear another word about it. This is your responsibility to work out," his lips twitched when glared at each other venomously. "But work it out on your own time. That means get out of my office."

Clarke sighed and stomped out the door with Bellamy hot on her heels.

When he was halfway out the door Principal Jaha spoke.

"And Mr. Blake?" he said without looking up from the paper he was marking up in pen.

"Yes?" Bellamy swiveled his head to look at him.

"Forcibly remove another skater from the ice and _I_ will remove you from the hockey team."

Principal Jaha continued to stare down at his paperwork. Bellamy swallowed hard.

"Yes sir," he said, his voice a throaty rasp. He closed the door behind him and jogged down the hallway to catch up with Clarke.

"Hey," he caught her by the elbow and spun her around. "What the hell?"

"What?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Forcibly removed a skater? Seriously?" he demanded. "God, I can't believe you told Jaha."

"Actually, I didn't," Clarke pursed her lips. "Must have been one of my skaters. Either way, you're really going to complain because we're not okay with you just manhandling us out of your way?"

His face contorted in anger. "Listen, princess-"

"No, you listen," she pushed him in the chest. "Hockey isn't the only sport at this school suffering from budget cuts. If you want to get anywhere with your team then you're going to have to work _with _me because we're stuck with this situation, regardless of whether we asked for it or not."

"I don't have to do anything with you," he snarled. "There's six of you and eighteen of us- you guys can find a frozen parking lot to train in. We'll be taking the ice."

"Are you stupid?" Clarke blurted out. "Did you not listen to a word Jaha said? His attitude is work it out or suck it up. He doesn't give a shit about your hockey season, he's got bigger problems. The school is _strapped for cash_. If he thinks we're more trouble than we're worth he's going to shut down _both_ of our programs."

"He can't," Bellamy shook his head. "We need this. _I _need this." He pushed a hand through his hair and stared at the ground. "How the fuck am I supposed to get scouted for college if he shuts down the program."

Clarke bobbed her head in agreement. "Right? Listen, you're not the only one trying to get in at a D1 school with a free ride."

Bellamy looked up at her sharply.

"It's not like _you _need an athletic scholarship. Your mom's a doctor, haven't you already got a free ride?"

Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Someone's done their homework." Colour rose in Bellamy's cheeks but his challenging stare never wavered from her face. So maybe he _had _asked around about her.

"Shut up," he brushed her off. "I'm just saying you don't need the money, you don't really need the ice time."

"Just because my mom's a doctor doesn't mean I want to be at her mercy every time I need a dollar," Clarke said darkly. "I don't want to owe her anything," she mumbled.

Bellamy cocked his head and opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't ask," Clarke shook her head. "Just trust me on this one. I need scholarship money. That means I need this to work. We _all_ need this to work. So work _with me_ here."

Bellamy clenched his jaw and cast a long glance at Principal Jaha's office.

"You really think he'd cut the hockey program?" he asked in a low voice.

"I think he forced us to practice together because he's hoping we'll implode so he doesn't _have to_ cut the program. He's banking on us failing so he can blame it on us and he doesn't have to be the bad guy who cut funding to sports and the arts."

"No way," Bellamy breathed, his eyes shifting from the office to Clarke. "That's _dark_."

"Think about it," she said quietly. "Some kids are only able to be here thanks to subsidy funding. If the choice is between cutting a kid's education or cutting sports teams what would you choose?"

"_I'm _on subsidy funding," Bellamy admitted, drumming his fingertips against his thigh. "I get it, I'd never be able to afford SAT prep or AP exams on my own, but the hockey program is for my _future." _He stopped talking abruptly and turned and looked at Clarke as if he'd only just noticed she was there. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Alright, let's work this out," he said firmly. "What are your demands, princess?"

"I don't have demands, I just don't want you to be an asshole," she responded and Bellamy promptly rolled his eyes.

"Your little stunt shooting pucks at my skaters could have seriously injured one of them. No more bullshit. I don't want my guys getting hurt and neither do you. Neither of our teams can afford an injury at the moment. Last thing we need is some freshman taking a skate to the face because he wandered a little too close to a layback spin."

"I don't know what that is," Bellamy said in a rush and rolled his eyes. Clarke glared at him.

"Alright, so no more shooting at your skaters," he raised his hands. "What else?"

Clarke bit her lip and started walking.

"Well we still have to sort out how we'll split the ice time," she said as Bellamy fell into step beside her. "Why don't we take the first hour after school and you take the second hour?"

"No, I can't run hour-long practices- its too short," Bellamy shook his head as they entered the cafeteria. "We'd spend half the time doing warm-ups and cool-downs and get hardly any tactics in."

"Okay, what if you warmed them up with dry land training, we split the ice for an hour of drills and jump training and then we split the second hour?" Clarke asked. "You'll get a half hour for full rink scrimmages and I'll get a half hour for us to run our routines using the whole space."

Bellamy crossed his arms and worked his jaw thoughtfully.

"Less than ideal," he muttered.

"But probably our best option for the time being, right?"

"Probably," he agreed. "Alright princess," he stuck his hand out. "You've got yourself a deal." 


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself forward. He cut through an array of pylons and ignored the burning in his calves. He jerked his head up and slapped the ice with his stick, demanding the puck. He pulled down the pass easily and flicked the puck into the net, sending it sailing over the goalie's shoulder. He collected the puck and skated back to the end of the line, urging the boys on as he did.

"PUSH," he called out. "Dig deep, boys- last minute!"

He leaned on his stick and watched the boys skate through the circuit.

"C'mon," he shouted. "Keep the intensity up! Remember, practice how you play!"

He was just about to call time when he heard a high-pitched whistle from behind him. He turned around to see Clarke standing at centre-ice.

"Bellamy," she bayed and touched the watch on her wrist. "It's 4:30."

He nodded and turned back to the boys.

"Alright," he yelled out, "clean up and get to the bench, we're scrimmaging."

The boys promptly stopped what they were doing and started scooping up pucks and pylons. Bellamy watched with a satisfied smirk as they quickly cleared the ice. That smirk turned into a grimace when he noticed two boys standing off to the side and pointing at the figure skaters exiting the rink. Murphy was lining up a shot, his stick swinging back in preparation for a slapshot in the skaters' direction. Bellamy closed the space between them and sent Murphy flying with a hip check.

"Ughh," Murphy groaned from his prone position splayed out on the ice.

Bellamy slid to a stop and stood over him.

"We're not doing that anymore," he said firmly.

"Right," Murphy coughed. Bellamy grasped his wrist and hauled him to his feet.

"Get to the bench," he said and pushed him away roughly. "And if I catch you shooting at the skaters again then you'll stay there."

Bellamy led the boys in a scrimmage for half an hour before turning the ice back over to the skaters.

"All yours," he said as he hopped over the boards, the last hockey player to leave the ice.

"Thanks," Clarke replied and pulled off her skate guards. Bellamy watched her skate out hand in hand with her partner Wells. The music started and the pair sprung into action, spinning away from one another. Bellamy shook his head and started toward the locker room for a shower.

The locker room was rowdy as always. The boys shouted and sang over the sound of the rushing water but Bellamy was quiet. He ducked his head to stand under the shower head and let the hot water beat down on his shoulders. When he was done he traipsed into the change room and sat down on the bench, wiping his hands on the towel drawn at his waist. He pushed his sopping hair out of his eyes and reached for a yellow pad of paper in his bag, ignoring the boys dancing and whooping around him. He scribbled on the pad and then stood quickly to his feet, toweling off and pulling on sweats and a Henley before rushing back out to the rink.

Bellamy rolled his eyes to see Clarke still out on the ice. They'd only been practicing together for a week but she was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. It was past 5:30 and she was just coming off the rink, smiling at the kinder-skate kids who entered as she left.

"Hey," Bellamy grunted and stopped Clarke with a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," she frowned, fixing him with a puzzled look.

"Relax, princess, I won't keep you," he rolled his eyes. "I just gotta ask you about practice tomorrow."

"Alright," Clarke agreed testily. "Shoot."

He took a breath.

"Do you mind if we do the full rink half-hours first and then share the ice for the last hour? I want to start practice with a skeleton scrimmage so we can work out our positioning. I need them to learn the positioning first so that my drills make sense."

His hands twitched at his sides and he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Clarke did not fail to notice.

"Yeah, sure," she raised an eyebrow. "That's fine for tomorrow," she shrugged. "Let's just not make it a regular thing- we need the time to practice jumps before we have to do them in our routine practice."

"Fine by me," Bellamy nodded. "It's just a one-time thing, honest."

Clarke's eyebrows furrowed but her lips tugged into a bemused smile.

"Yeah, alright then," she nodded and adjusted her watch on her wrist. "See you in the morning."

"The morning?" Bellamy pulled a face.

"Yeah," Clarke nodded, "bright and early, 5 am," she raised her eyebrows.

Bellamy stared at her blankly.

"Wait," she leaned towards him. "Jaha didn't talk to you?"

He shook his head.

"He changed the arena booking," Clarke said. "We're on 5 am practices from now on. He didn't tell you?" she cocked her head.

He shook his head again.

"Hm," Clarke said and dropped her gaze to the floor, shoulders hunching and hand rising to thumb over her bottom lip. "What is he up to," she hummed.

Bellamy's hands curled into fists and his chest expanded. This time Clarke was oblivious.

"Initially I thought he was trying to run us out with the early start time," she buzzed and ran a hand through her hair. "I was little offended to be honest- as if we'd give up practice to sleep in," she rolled her eyes.

"No, it's more than that," Bellamy interrupted her rambling. She looked up at him and waited expectantly.

"He's baiting me," Bellamy murmured, his voice low.

Clarke squinted at him and her mouth puckered.

"He wants me to think that you switched our ice time without telling me," he grit his teeth. "He wants me to fly off the handle so he'll have an excuse to remove me from the team. I've been in Jaha's office enough times for fighting- he knows I've got a temper."

Clarke's forehead wrinkled.

"So you think this is personal? He has a vendetta against you and wants you off the team?" She asked in disbelief.

"No," Bellamy barked out a laugh. "Nothing personal. Jaha's too clinical. But axe the captain and watch the team crumble," he lifted his hands resignedly.  
Clarke stared at him appraisingly. "Then you better not give him a reason to axe you."

Bellamy raised his eyes to hers and scowled, sucking in a breath as he did.

"That's not a threat," she said hurriedly and placed a placating hand on his arm. "I'm just saying," she shrugged, "don't do anything stupid."

His glare softened and he dragged his gaze to the floor before giving her a curt nod.

"We know his game," Clarke said. "We just can't take the bait," she looked at him pointedly.

He nodded again, unfurling his fists as he did so.

"Alright," she said and gave his arm a squeeze. "So tomorrow then."

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Bright and early, 5 am."

But the next morning, Bellamy awoke to a blaring alarm clock, a foot and a half of freshly fallen snow, and 17 texts on his phone. He groaned but dressed and packed his hockey bag anyway. It might have been a snow day, and his team mates might have planned on staying home, but he was taking advantage of their hour of ice time, snow be damned. The snow was still coming down hard when he left the house. Bellamy trudged down the street with his hockey bag slung over his shoulder. It was dark and cold but the streetlights glowed orange off of the snow. It was sort of peaceful.

He reached the arena and dressed quickly, leaving the shoulder pads in his bag and opting for just his underarmour, hockey pants, socks, and skates. He walked out of the locker room clutching his stick across his body with a bucket of pucks in one hand and a stack of pylons in the other. He stopped short when he reached the rink. It was predictably empty- except for one person.

Clarke glided down the ice, sweeping her hair up as she went. She closed her eyes and spun out, extending her arms widely. She started pumping her legs, gathering speed and hurtling forward before launching herself into the air. The power in her legs was explosive but she somehow made it graceful. She rotated around and around, her arms pulled tight to her chest, her ponytail whipping behind her. Bellamy was rooted to the spot, the stack of pylons and bucket of pucks in his hands largely forgotten. She came down hard on one blade and it was both violent and beautiful. She pushed and gathered speed again, flying into the air even higher this time. She missed the landing and fell heavily on her hip, sliding out across the ice. Bellamy inhaled sharply and took a step forward but she was back on her feet before he could move to open the door. He watched her jump and crash several more times in her pursuit of higher altitude. Each time she hauled herself to her feet and attacked the next jump with even greater fervor.

The pylons started sliding out of his arms and he hefted them up, shaking himself a little as he did so. He leaned an elbow down on the door latch and pushed through noisily, slamming the door behind him to announce his presence. Clarke whirled around to face him. She arched an eyebrow in his direction and he gave her a curt nod. He started lining his pylons up in a row and she coasted over to him.

"Hey," she said, closing the distance between them by navigating around his pylons deftly. "You're not gonna say hi?"

He looked up and bit back a smile.

"Hi."

She was close enough to him now that she had to slow her pace to wait for him to put out the next pylon. She kept following him as he dropped them on the ice.

"I didn't think anyone would come today," she said.

"That makes two of us," he replied.

"Your boys aren't coming?" she asked.

"Doesn't look like it," he dropped the last pylon and straightened up to face her.

She rounded the last corner and stopped short in front of him, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. He was close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

"So where are they?" she demanded.

"In bed, praying for a snow day," he grunted. "Where are your skaters?"

"Doing the same."

"But you're not," he met her eye.

Her lips tightened. "No," she shook her head. She almost smiled. "And neither are you."

The corner of his mouth pulled up. "No," he shook his head minutely.

They sized each other up for a brief second, mirroring each other's drawn mouths and smirking eyes.

"Alright," Clarke dropped her head, "half is mine, half is yours?" she asked.

"Like always," he confirmed with a nod.

They both turned and skated down to opposite ends of the rink. He worked on stick handling and skating drills while she practiced her jumps and spins. An hour went by quickly. Bellamy cleared the ice so Clarke could use the whole rink to run through her singles routine. When she had run through it twice she glided over to the boards, her hands resting on her hips.

"Alright, Blake, the rink is yours," she waved a hand. "What's it gonna be? Scrimmage against yourself?" she asked sardonically.

"I wish," he grimaced. "I was thinking suicides."

Clarke raised her eyebrows.

"Line to line?" she asked.

"Yup," he grunted and started skating down to the end of the ice. She followed.

He turned and started skating backwards.

"What?" he demanded.

"Can I do them with you?"

He grinned.

"You want to do suicides with me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," she shrugged.

"Well, alright," he turned back around. "Should we make a pact?"

Clarke rolled her eyes at his back but she couldn't stifle her smile.

"Alright, let's see what you're made of, princess," he said as he took his place behind the red line. Clarke positioned herself a few yards to his right. They both pushed off and raced down the ice. They dug in, trying hard to outpace the other and beat each other to the next line. Bellamy outstripped Clarke in the first few stretches, his long legs making up more ground than hers in the sprint. In the long run, Clarke caught up to him and nearly overtook him as they coasted through the last red line. They finished at the same time, hunched over with their hands on their thighs and their breaths coming hard and fast. Legs and lungs burning, cheeks red with effort, they turned to face each other. Bellamy frowned at her.

"Don't look so surprised," Clarke panted. "You play for 30 second shifts, I have a 6 minute program."

Bellamy grinned and straightened up, throwing his head back and trying to catch his breath.

He caught her eye, his lips twitching into a smile.

"Want to play a game?"

IIIIIIIIIII

"What are you guys doing about conditioning?"

"Oh, hi Bellamy, nice to see you too," Clarke looked up from spinning the dial on her locker.

"Yeah, yeah, hi," Bellamy rolled his eyes. "God, princess, you're so stuffy about greetings."

"What do you want?" Clarke asked as she shoved a textbook into her locker.

"I just told you," Bellamy huffed. "I asked you what you guys are doing about conditioning," he repeated.

"What do you mean?" she asked absently, her finger trailing along a line of binders on her shelf. Bellamy leaned against the locker next to hers.

"We used to work conditioning and cardio into practice," he explained. "But its harder now that we're in a small space, there's a lot more skills training."

"Just do circuits, keep them moving through the drills, and shorten the lines so there's less time waiting," Clarke shrugged. "Are you that concerned about conditioning? Some of these guys are doing two-a-days between school training and practice for their rep teams. If anything, you should be worried about over working them," she said and slammed her locker shut.

"Maybe I'm not asking for them."

"Okay," she shot him a look. "Then who are you asking for?"

"Me."

"Well in that case you need to be worried about over working your self," she rolled her eyes.

He smiled wolfishly. "Trust me, I'm not worried."

"Bellamy, you're going to burn yourself out. I know you want to be better than them but your body has limits, you can't just be training for two teams and throw extra conditioning on top of that."

"I'm not training for two teams."

She stared at him and he shuffled his feet.

"I'm not on a rep team, okay?"

Silence. And then-

"Why wouldn't you be on a rep team?" she demanded.

He scowled and crossed his arms.

"Take a wild guess."

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Coaches kicked you off because you're too hot-headed?"

He snorted. "Take another guess."

"I don't know," she said again.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Money, princess. Some of us actually have to think about it."

She swallowed. "You can't afford it?"

He shook his head.

"Have you ever played rep?"

He shook his head again.

"But then how are you so good?" she blurted out. "Captain of the varsity team? And you've never been on a proper team?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I got a pair of skates at a thrift shop and practically lived out on the pond every winter. Played a lot of pick-up shinny down at the public rink. Practiced my footwork at free skates and played road hockey every summer with the boys in my neighbourhood."

She searched his face, her brows knitted together and lips pressed into a thin line.

"So that's why you raised hell when we were on the ice that first week. School practice is all you've got to get ready for showcase tournaments."

He lowered his gaze to the floor, his jaw ticking furiously.

"I can't afford to fall behind," he said quietly. He ducked his head and shouldered past her.

"Bellamy-" she called after him and reached for his arm.

He shook her off and kept walking.

"Later, princess."

IIIIIIIIII

Bellamy entered the cramped library and scanned the room for a place to sit. It was far from a silent library- there was a steady hum of conversation coming from the students crammed in around study tables. Computers lined the far wall and round tables had been arranged haphazardly behind them to make more study space. Bellamy crossed the room and slammed his history textbook down on a round table behind a certain blonde situated at a computer.

"Oh hi Clarke, nice to see you," he said when she turned around to find the source of the noise.

"Hey," she responded.

"Coming to the game tonight, princess?" he asked and stretched out his arms.

"No," she said dismissively and pulled a face.

"What do you mean, no?" he mimicked her disgust face.

Clarke shrugged. "I'm just not going," she said.

"Why not?" Bellamy demanded. "This is your school, you should have a vested interest in your hockey team."

"Well I don't," she frowned.

"What, you don't like hockey?" Bellamy asked incredulously.

"It's not that I don't like it," she wrinkled her nose, "it's just that its frustrating to watch."

"And why's that?" Bellamy tilted back in his chair.

"It's just so sloppy," Clarke said.

"Sloppy? It's sloppy?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well, yeah, in comparison to soccer."

Bellamy didn't move an inch, he only exhaled hard through his nose and glared at her. After a moment he closed his eyes.

"Don't do this," he whispered.

"I'm not," Clarke said. "You asked-"

"You're so contrary," he tilted the chair forward again and scrubbed his face in his hands.

"I'm not," Clarke insisted. "It's just that when I watch hockey, I wish the passing was tighter."

"Oh god," he moaned.

"Okay, come look at this," Clarke said firmly and twisted around in her seat to face her computer. She started clacking away on the keyboard and Bellamy's curiosity got the better of him. He stood up and moved over to stand behind Clarke's chair.

"Look," she gestured to the screen, "just look at this."

Bellamy leaned down to stare at the monitor, one hand on the back of her chair and the other flat on the table.

"What am I looking at?" his voice buzzed close to her ear.

"Barcelona highlights," Clarke said. "Look at the way they play- short passes, tiki-taka, just keeping possession and always passing to a player."

Bellamy stared at the screen, his eyes tracking the ball.

"Can you imagine if hockey teams played like this?" Clarke asked. "Then I'd watch."

Bellamy pulled his eyes from the screen and trained them on her.

"It's not a bad idea," he grunted. "How'd a figure skater become such a soccer fan, anyway?"

Clarke fiddled with the mouse. "My dad and I used to watch soccer every Saturday," she stared straight ahead at the screen.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. "Used to?" he asked.

"Hm," she hummed in affirmation and touched her wrist. Bellamy looked from the men's watch on her wrist to her face and back again. He didn't say anything, only squeezed her shoulder once before returning to his table and cracking open his textbook.

After a few minutes of keys clacking and pages ruffling, Clarke turned in her seat and stared at him.

"Yes, princess?" he asked without looking up.

She hesitated.

"I think we should force some team bonding on everyone," Clarke said.

"What?" Bellamy looked up, a laugh falling from his lips. "Clarke, we're not on the same team."

"Okay, inter-team bonding," she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. "God, you can be so pedantic," she muttered.

"What was that?" he asked, eyes crinkling.

Clarke took a deep breath. "In the interest of inter-team bonding, I am not going to repeat myself."

"Alright."

"Anyway," Clarke continued, "last practice was sort of tense and I don't want any animosity to break out between the teams. Jaha would jump all over that."

"It was tense because your skaters kept scooping pucks every time they came near your end."

"They only started doing that because your boys keep trash talking Finn and Wells."

Bellamy snorted. "It's not trash talk, its just locker room banter."

Clarke glared at him.

"Alright, fine," he relented. "Inter-team bonding- what do you have in mind?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I was thinking breakfast."

"Breakfast?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Practice ends at 7 and class doesn't start til 8:30 so we could all get breakfast together," she said.

"That's no good," Bellamy shook his head. "We should make them all do suicides together."

"Why?"

"Best way to bond people together is shared struggle," Bellamy shrugged.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?" he asked. "It worked for you and me."

Clarke looked to the ceiling and mouthed wordlessly.

"Alright, fine," he huffed. "Breakfast it is."

The very next day, 24 hungry athletes charged into Sally's Diner after a grueling practice. With a certain degree of alarm, the waitress pushed several tables together and handed out sticky menus. Soon enough, the hockey team and the skaters were crammed together, elbow to elbow and tucked into plates heaping with scrambled eggs, French toast, and crispy bacon. Bellamy ordered the boys to be nice and wedged himself in next to Clarke.

"Bellamy," she said through a mouthful. "Take one of my pancakes," she commanded and slid her plate towards his elbow.

"Benevolent princess," he rolled his eyes and played with his phone. "I don't need your charity," he muttered in an undertone.

"It's not charity, you ass- I can't eat four pancakes."

He shot her a withering stare. "Then why did you order four pancakes? They come in twos."

Her cheeks warmed slightly under his glare. "Fine," she sighed. "I ordered for you. Don't think I didn't notice that you only ordered tea. You need to carb load, you're working out too much not to."

"I do carb load," he said through gritted teeth. "I just do it at home where I don't have to pay ten dollars for a plate. I'm not starving, princess. You don't need to feed me table scraps."

"Well you're eating them today whether you like it or not," she said forcefully. "I really can't eat four pancakes," she added, a hint of panic in her voice. She pushed the plate even closer to him and forced a fork into his hand. "Half is mine, half is yours, like always," she insisted.

He looked at her then, eyes narrowed and a smile threatening to crack his face.

"Don't get cute." he warned.

He finished the pancakes.


	3. Chapter 3

The music swelled as Clarke dipped and weaved across the ice in tandem with Wells. They moved in sync, their skates carving into the ice and their hands dancing lightly over each others' arms. Wells reached for her and Clarke leaned back, arching her neck as Wells lifted her up by the waist. She twisted and rolled down his arms to land on the ice. He threw her up and she spun in midair, her hands ghosting over his shoulders and chest-

"Bellamy."

-she rotated impossibly fast on one blade, her long blond hair flowing out behind her like spun gold. Wells lifted her again and she glided effortlessly across his back before settling somewhere at his hip with her leg tangled around his. He set her down and skated away but she closed the distance between them and whipped around him, coming up short in front of him so that their noses nearly touched and her hands splayed across his chest-

"Bellamy!"

"Hm?" Bellamy tore his eyes away from the ice and jerked his head around to face his assistant captain.

Nathan was leaning against the boards and staring at him expectantly.

"Sorry, what?" Bellamy asked.

Nathan huffed and rolled his eyes "I asked if you have a solid date yet for the showcase tournament. I need to book it off work."

Bellamy shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Jaha's being sort of difficult, we're still working on him."

"We?" Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Who's we?"

Bellamy frowned slightly and turned back to the ice.

"Me and Clarke."

Nathan's eyebrows raised even higher.

"Right," he nodded and averted his gaze, his head hanging slightly as he smiled at the floor.

"What?" Bellamy ground out.

"Nothing," he shrugged. His shit-eating grin said otherwise.

Bellamy scowled but chose not to say anything, opting instead to fold his arms over the edge of the boards and rest his chin against his wrist. He stared moodily out at the ice until a strangled scream echoed through the arena. Wells crumpled to the ground and Clarke skittered backwards away from him, landing hard on the ice. Within seconds, Clarke scrambled to her feet but Wells stayed down. Another strangled scream rang out. Bellamy and Nathan exchanged matching looks of apprehension before they both vaulted themselves over the boards and skated to Wells.

"Okay, Wells, just lie on your back for me," Clarke murmured soothingly from her position crouched next to him. "Is it your ankle or your knee?"

"Knee," Wells gasped.

"Alright," she squeezed his hand.

She looked up at Bellamy and shook her head almost imperceptibly. She stood up and skated to a stop at his shoulder.

"I heard it pop," she breathed. He bowed his head to hear her and they shared a significant look. They both knew what a pop meant.

"Should I call an ambulance or do you want to drive him?" Bellamy asked.

Clarke chewed on her lip.

"I'll drive him," she nodded. "Let's get him up," she said and skated back towards Wells.

"Hey, hey, hey," Bellamy called softly, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her back. "We got him," he insisted.

Bellamy and Nathan both hooked an arm under Wells' shoulders and another under his legs to carry him off the ice. It was a slow, painstaking process- every jostle sent Wells reeling with pain. Finally, they got him outside and into the back of Clarke's car. Bellamy shut the back door and rounded the side of the car to where Clarke was waiting with her keys in hand.

She tilted her chin up to find his eyes. "Thanks," she said.

Bellamy shrugged and opened the door for her to get in. She muttered thank you again but he didn't seem to hear her. She sat down in the car and he stood in the open door, bending down with his hand leaned on the frame.

"You okay to drive?" he asked and clenched his jaw.

"Yeah," Clarke said in surprise, "I'm fine." Her brow creased quizzically.

Bellamy cast a furtive glance back at Wells.

"I didn't know if you'd be upset," he muttered, his eyes searching her face.

Clarke smiled grimly.

"There'll be time for that later. Right now I've gotta get this guy to the hospital."

Bellamy grinned and shook his head.

"Alright," he said and tapped the roof of the car lightly with his fist. "Drive safe."

Clarke nodded and he shut the door before stepping back and watching her drive away. When he pulled his gaze away, he caught Nathan staring at him with his brow furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown. Bellamy rubbed his nose and looked at the ground.

"Come on, let's get back to practice."

IIIIIIII

The next day, Clarke scanned the crowded cafeteria, her eyes halting on Bellamy's tall frame. He was standing in line, clutching a tray in his hands. Clarke shook her head at the sight of him. He was sporting a backwards cap pulled over his unruly curls and he was dressed like he'd just come back from practice in grey sweats and a black reebok long sleeve- despite the fact that they didn't have ice time that morning. She crossed the room and lined up behind him.

"Hey," she nudged him in the back.

He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"Hey."

"So Wells hasn't had his MRI yet but the doctor's pretty sure he tore his ACL."

"Isn't that a girl's injury?"

"Stop."

"What? I'm not being an ass. It's more common in girls. Especially at our age, you should be careful, one lousy turn and you're missing the showcase comp."

"Yeah, well the way things are going I'm probably going to miss the showcase anyway."

"What do you mean?" Bellamy looked up sharply. "Please don't tell me you're bailing on the comp, I did not train on half a rink all these weeks for nothing."

"I'm not bailing," Clarke said bitterly, "they won't let me skate."

"Why not, I thought you had a singles routine too?"

"I do," Clarke said. "But in order to skate in the showcase you have to do both a singles routine and a pairs routine. If I don't have a partner, I can't do a pairs routine, I can't skate in the showcase, and I can't be seen by the scouts."

"So what," Bellamy shrugged and snagged an apple for his tray. "Just ask what's his face, uh- Raven's partner to do it with you."

"I already looked into it, comp rules state that he can't compete with two different partners because he'd essentially be competing against himself in the same event."

Bellamy piled a sandwich and a chocolate milk onto his tray and continued to shuffle through the line. "Can't you ask someone from your skate club?"

"Nope," Clarke grimaced, "It has to be someone who is a student at this school." She sighed. "I don't even need to do particularly well in the pairs routine. I just need to skate a passable routine so they'll let me in the showcase and I can try to impress the scouts with my singles program."

"And what exactly is a passable routine?" he asked before turning and handing some change over to the cashier.

"Just the minimum requirement for lifts, spins, and footwork," Clarke said and followed him out towards the tables. "If I can just find someone to skate with and prepare a basic routine then I'll be in the showcase."

"So find a half decent skater and ask them to step in," Bellamy slapped his tray down on a table and slid onto the bench.

"Yeah," Clarke nodded and sat across from him. "That's the plan," she said and stared at him pointedly.

Bellamy frowned and narrowed his eyes as he watched her watching him.

"What?" he asked when she failed to drop her gaze.

She raised her eyebrows.

"No," he whispered in horror, his mouth widening into an 'o'.

"No, no, no," he shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"Come on, at least think about it."

"No!" he half-shouted and folded his arms over his chest. "There are 17 other boys you could ask, why are you asking me?"

"Because you're the best skater on your team."

"Barely," Bellamy protested. "Miller is as good as I am."

"I know, I thought of him," Clarke admitted. "But he's smaller than you. And I already know you can lift me. You've already 'forcibly removed me from the ice' once," she waved a hand dismissively.

"That's real cute," he nodded. "But come off it, Miller's strong. And you're like a raggedy ann doll anyway, he could lift you easy."

Clarke sighed. "He's strong, but you're solid," she said to which Bellamy choked on his apple.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I know you're not going to drop me."

Bellamy's dark eyes widened and the corners of his mouth twitched before he clamped his jaw down tightly.

"True enough. But what makes you think I would ever agree to partner you in ice dancing?"

"Because I need you," she put forth bluntly. "And you need me too."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged. "How do you figure?"

"You're worried about conditioning, right? You want to keep up with the rest of the boys on the team? If you skate with me you'll join the skate-team's conditioning program- that means joining us for dry-land training and gaining access to the weight room for strength training."

Bellamy tightened his lips and stared hard at a spot on the table.

"Not to mention," Clarke interjected his thoughts, "That you'll spend so much time working on footwork and agility with me that you can use your remaining ice time to focus on skills and tactics."

"Hmph," he grunted and clenched his fists on the table.

"And you'll get a PT."

"A what?"

"A PT. Physical therapist."

"Really?" he asked sardonically. "And how are you going to swing that? I don't think a PT is in the school budget."

"She doesn't get paid. Her name is Clarke Griffin."

Bellamy snorted. "You're not a physical therapist."

"No," Clarke agreed. "But I'm doing a co-op with a sports medicine doctor. I know how to tape ankles and knees. I have the keys to the foam roller cabinet in the mezzanine."

"You don't," Bellamy widened his eyes.

"I do."

Bellamy sighed and rubbed his eyes in the heel of his hand.

"Strength training and dry land, huh?" he folded his arms on the table.

Clarke nodded solemnly to which Bellamy threw back his head.

"Ughh, I hate you," he growled and dropped his head down to rest on his forearms.

Clarke leaned towards him and reached a hand across the table. "So you'll do it?"

"Yes, fine, I'll do it," he raised his head again and picked up his sandwich.

Clarke bit down on her lip, her eyes shining brightly.

"One problem though, princess," he squinted at her. "How am I supposed to train with you if hockey practice is at the same time as skate practice?"

"Okay," Clarke steepled her fingers, "I thought of this. We'll start practicing lifts off the ice, and we'll practice the routine during the skate team's half hour of full-rink time at practice."

He chewed on his sandwich thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said. "Is that going to be enough? If I'm going to do this I don't want to look like an ass, I want to at least know what I'm doing."

Clarke nodded. "That's why I was thinking we'd do this the Bellamy Blake way."

He glowered at her "And what would that be?"

She smiled. "You think you have time for some pond practice?"

IIIIIIIIIII

Bellamy bent over and retied his laces for the fourth time.

"Quit stalling, it's getting late."

"I'm not stalling," he scowled.

"Whatever, Blake. All I know is you're taking an awful long time to lace up."

Bellamy huffed dramatically and got to his feet.

"Happy, princess?"

"Hm," she grunted and stared him up and down, frowning slightly.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "I forget you're so tall," she muttered under her breath.

He scrunched up his nose and cocked his head.

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked. "For the routine?"

"What? No," Clarke shook her head again. "No, I was just thinking."

There was a pregnant pause and Bellamy raised his eyebrows.

"Well that clears things up."

Clarke sighed. "I was thinking that if you murder me here my mom is going to think I'm such an idiot for going to a secluded pond in the dark with a strange boy."

"Oh," Bellamy blinked. "Yeah, I was thinking that too."

"You were," Clarke deadpanned skeptically.

"Well not that exactly," Bellamy rolled his eyes. "But I was thinking on the way over here that if my sister ever did this I'd kill her."

"Hm," Clarke hummed and bit her lip. She sized him up again before shrugging her shoulders. "Whatever, I trust you," she waved a hand and turned to walk towards the ice.

Bellamy smiled at his skates and followed behind her. They both stepped tentatively out onto the ice, casting long shadows in the yellow glow of the floodlight set up at the pond's edge.

"You ready?" Clarke asked as Bellamy fell into place beside her.

"Yeah," he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"C'mon," Clarke jerked her head.

She reached for his hand and pulled him behind her as she skated out to the centre of the pond. They skated a couple of laps around the pond to warm up and then reconvened at centre-ice.

"Alright, let's get started," Clarke said and turned to face him.

"Lifts?" Bellamy asked and glided towards her, reaching for her waist.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she danced out of his reach. "Easy there, Charlie White. We are not starting with lifts."

"Then, what?" he asked. "And do I have to be Charlie White? I fucking hate Charlie and Meryl."

"They're gold medalists," Clarke countered. "There's literally nobody better than them."

"I don't buy it," Bellamy crossed his arms. "Virtue and Moir have way better chemistry. Sochi was fixed."

Clarke gaped at him until his ears turned red.

"Someone did their homework," she grinned and pushed him in the chest. "Now, c'mon, we're going to start with blocking out the routine. Maybe once we have the choreo down and you know all your lifts, spins, and footwork, we'll have time to get our chemistry to your standard," she rolled her eyes and turned around.

"Somehow, I don't think that'll be a problem," he mumbled at her back.

An hour later, Bellamy knew at least the order of steps in the routine, even if he couldn't perform most of them. Clarke had also drilled him on some simple footwork and turns and he'd picked them up pretty quickly.

"Good," Clarke nodded after he nailed a two footed spin. "I think you've got the basics down, but bunny hops, pumps, and lunges are easy. We'll try something harder in practice tomorrow."

"Great," he frowned. "So the whole team can watch me fall on my ass."

"Hey," Clarke swatted at him, "the whole team watches me fall on my ass every practice."

Bellamy pulled a face and kicked at the ice.

"Fine," Clarke sighed,"do you wanna try a lift?"

He grinned down at her. "You trying to placate me, princess?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Is it working?"

"Sort of," he tilted his head. "Alright, what do I do?" he asked and closed the gap between them.

"Hm. I think you could do a platter lift," Clarke squinted up at him. "Just hold me by the waist," she instructed, "and lift me straight up over your head. I'll straighten out and arch my back. Think you can do it?"

"Mhm," he said and settled his hands on her hips. "Ready?" he asked.

She met his eyes and in perfect sync they both took a deep breath. Bellamy lifted her up and straightened his arms out in one smooth motion. Once he had her in the air, Clarke arched her back and extended her arms outward.

"Good," Clarke said breathlessly. But then Bellamy's arms started to shake. Clarke looked down in surprise to see Bellamy staring up at her and laughing.

"What?" she snapped.

He was silent for a moment before opening his mouth.

"I. Had. The time of my life-" he sang off-key in his low voice.

Immediately, Clarke's body went completely limp with giggles. Bellamy caught her clumsily against his chest and set her back down on the ice. She doubled over laughing and had to rest her hands on her knees.

"Didn't realize you were such a Swayze fan," she said once she'd composed herself.

Bellamy shook his head and smiled ruefully.

"You have no idea how many times I've watched that movie with my sister."

"Sister, right," Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Still don't believe she's real," she said. "Now come on, let's get out of here. I think that's enough practice for today."

The next day at the arena, Bellamy cleared his boys off the ice and skated over to the bench.

"Alright, figure skaters, you're up," he said and leaned over the boards to snag a water bottle from Nathan.

"We're up," Clarke corrected him.

"Right," Bellamy nodded and jumped over the boards. "Just give me a minute," he panted and tugged his gloves off. "I gotta get ready," he said and unclasped his helmet.

"Sure," Clarke said. "You gonna be good to go? You sound out of breath."

"Please," Bellamy smirked and ripped his shoulder pads off. "I am always ready to ice dance."

Murphy nearly cracked his neck he turned around so quick. .

"Did I hear that right?" he scoffed. "You are ice dancing?"

"That's right," Bellamy said and yanked his shin guards out of his socks.

"What the fuck?" Murphy stared at him incredulously. "Why?"

Bellamy stood to his feet, down to only his skates, socks, hockey pants, and underarmour shirt at this point. His face was red from scrimmaging and his hair was sweaty and sticking out everywhere.

"Oh, you know," he said mildly, "Just expanding my horizons. Ice dancing will make me a triple threat."

"Ice dancing and hockey make two," Murphy sneered. "What's the third, dumbass?"

Bellamy vaulted himself over the boards and skated the length of the bench before turning around to answer.

"Sex," he shrugged.

The whole bench erupted in laughter and Bellamy couldn't help but smirk when he stopped short in front of Clarke who was waiting for him at centre ice with her hands on her hips.

"Such a show off," she pursed her lips and shook her head. "C'mon, we're playing follow the leader."

Clarke skated around the arena doing spirals, back scratch spins, and 3 turns while Bellamy followed, attempting to mimic her moves. He picked up on the moves quickly and was doing well until Clarke started combining moves in quick succession. From that point forward, Bellamy became very well acquainted with the ice.

"You're doing really well," Clarke insisted and dragged him up by the hand.

"I spend more time on my ass than on my feet," he frowned.

"That'll change quick, don't worry," Clarke assured him. "By the end of the week, you'll have these moves down," she said and tugged him toward the bench.

"What, we're done?" He asked and jerked their clasped hands up to check her watch.

"Fuck," he swore. "I wanted to try the toe loop."

"Tomorrow," Clarke smiled. "We're back on 5 am ice time tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," Bellamy grunted and leaned over the bench to unlatch the door for her. "I don't know what Jaha hopes to accomplish by switching it up every few practices."

"Trying to shake us out of a routine. It definitely makes it harder to schedule work around practice when it keeps changing like this," Clarke furrowed her brow. "Did you already send out a mass text to remind your boys?"

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded, "I included the skate team too. Just easier, there's only six of you."

"Thanks," Clarke said and pulled her skate guards on.

Bellamy hefted his hockey bag onto his shoulder and started towards the change room.

"Hey," Clarke called and tugged on the strap of his bag. "You want to come over and do plyo tonight?" she asked.

"Jesus, princess, when do you do homework?" he grimaced.

"After plyo," she grinned. "C'mon," she batted his shoulder, "it's only a 40 minute work-out and we haven't done any dry-land this week."

"Clarke, that's because the week just started, it's Monday," he protested.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I thought you were the kind of guy who wanted to score goals and win championships," she raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Alright, fine," he huffed. "But let's do it at my house, I have to drive my sister home."

She beamed and he rolled his eyes.

"And by the way," he grumbled, "you take Gatorade commercials way too seriously."

"Hey," she grabbed his shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "Anytime you're not practicing, there's someone out there who is," she recited with solemn gravitas.

He rolled his eyes again and shoved her toward the girls' change room.

Minutes later, they were standing next to the squash courts, waiting for Bellamy's sister to finish with wrestling practice.

"O's the one in pink," Bellamy pointed. A mat laid on the floor of the squash court and two wrestlers were sparring on it while their teammates and coaches looked on. Between their headgear and the speed of their movements it was difficult to get a good look at their faces. Bellamy's sister seemed to have the upper hand. She hooked her arms around her opponent's waist and rolled, tugging him with her.

"Whoa," Clarke breathed against the glass.

Bellamy crossed his arms and watched as his sister worked her opponent into a tight clinch hold.

"She's good, right?" he grinned. "This isn't even her sport, she prefers jiu jitsu but they don't have it in the NCAA."

Clarke looked up at him in surprise.

"You're trying to get her on the scholarship track too?" she asked.

"Well, yeah, gotta pay for college somehow," he shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem though, she's already getting scouted and she's only a sophomore."

Clarke let out a low whistle.

"You guys have something in your blood," she shook her head and turned to watch his sister sprawl out and pin her opponent to the mat.

"Nah," Bellamy shook his head, his lips quirking up. "O's been working her ass off for this for a long time."

A whistle blew and his sister pushed herself to her knees and then helped her opponent up. She pulled off her headgear to reveal a long, dark, French braid that fell loose down her back. When she took sight of Bellamy and Clarke she spit out her mouth guard and smiled. Clarke gasped a little and Bellamy turned to look at her.

"What?" he demanded. Before she could answer, his sister burst through the squash court door.

"Octavia?" Clarke nearly shouted in surprise.

"Clarke?!"

"This is your sister?" Clarke pointed at her and looked disbelievingly up at Bellamy.

"This is your figure skater?!" Octavia exclaimed and jabbed at his stomach. "You never told me it was Clarke!" she turned and grinned broadly. "You know he refers to you as 'the princess' non-stop? 'The princess this and the princess that,'" she mimicked in a low voice.

"I do not," Bellamy protested and rubbed the back of his neck. "How the hell do you two know each other, anyway?"

"Octavia comes to peer tutoring on Fridays for math help," Clarke answered. "Not that she needs much," she grinned back at Octavia.

"Wait," Bellamy pointed a finger at Clarke. "You're a peer tutor?"

"That is what I just said," Clarke rolled her eyes in Octavia's direction.

"I peer tutor on Mondays at lunch for essay help," Bellamy responded.

"Yeah," Clarke shrugged, "it looks good on a college application," she and Bellamy said at the same time.

They both halted and stared at each other with matching frowns.

"O-kay," Octavia looked between the two of them with widened eyes. "I'm going to go get my bag. This whole Team Rocket thing is freaking me out."

When they finally made it out to the parking lot, Octavia called shotgun and raced to the passenger side door. Bellamy protested vehemently but Clarke stopped him with a shake of her head.

"You have to respect the rules of shotgun," she said and climbed into the cramped backseat. "Without rules our society would dissolve into chaos."

"What's wrong with a little chaos?" he muttered and slung his bag into the back seat. He settled down at the wheel and soon enough they were pulling out of the parking lot.

"Jesus, Bell, would it kill you to wash your hockey gear?" Octavia wrinkled her nose. "It is rank."

"I do wash it," Bellamy said absently without looking away from the road. He reached covertly for the radio.

"Excessive febreezing is not the same as washing," Octavia said and swatted his hands away from the dial. "Don't even think about it," she said sharply.

"Octavia, it's my truck."

"That doesn't mean you have the right to depress us with your music choices," she bit back before twisting in her seat to look back at Clarke.

"Has he tortured you with his music yet?" she asked.

"Not yet," Clarke shook her head.

"God," Octavia huffed. "He only listens to sad boy music sung by tortured souls who are miserable and crying," she said dramatically and mimed at wiping away tears.

"What have I told you about exaggerating?"

"I'm not," Octavia insisted. "What's your favourite band again? Oh, that's right Crying Eyes."

"Bright Eyes," Bellamy corrected automatically. "And they're not my favourite, they're just among my favourites," he muttered.

"Whatever," Octavia retorted.

"What else do you listen to?" Clarke interjected.

Even from the backseat she could see his jaw tighten at the question.

"The National," he said finally, "Shakey Graves, Laura Marling, Arcade Fire. That sort of thing." He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "Know any of them?" he grinned.

"I might," she replied with a slow smile. "Boxer's one of my favourite albums," she admitted.

"See!" he shot a look at Octavia. "The princess likes them, that means you're the one with bad taste!"

"Yeah, because the princess is the final word on what qualifies as good music," Octavia rolled her eyes.

He huffed in exasperation and shook his head but when he caught Clarke's eye in the rearview mirror again, he was smiling.

When they arrived at the Blakes' walk-up apartment on the other side of town, Octavia's key stuck in the lock of the front door and she jangled it violently.

"Fucking shit," she muttered and pulled on it forcefully.

"O, let me try," Bellamy elbowed her out of the way.

"Right, because you have hitherto unrevealed lock-picking skills that I don't," Octavia rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall.

The door clicked open and Bellamy turned to Octavia with a triumphant smile stretching across his face. "Tis a gentle hand 'twil rule the land," he said and dangled the keys in front of her face.

She grabbed the keys and pushed in ahead of him. "Nerd!" she called over her shoulder.

"You're the one who just used 'hitherto' in a sentence out loud," Bellamy countered. "C'mon,' he turned to Clarke and snagged her hand to pull her into the apartment. As soon as they crossed the threshold they were hit with a wave of savoury aromas.

"Mom must be cooking," Bellamy grinned. They turned the corner to find a small, slender woman with dark hair bent over a pot on the stove.

"Hey mom," Bellamy announced himself and crossed the small kitchen to kiss her on the cheek.

"Hi," she turned to look at him and smile warmly. Her smile only widened when she took sight of Clarke hovering in the kitchen doorway.

"This is Clarke," Bellamy explained as Clarke waved feebly.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Blake."

"Please," she wrinkled her nose, "Call me Aurora."

Clarke smiled and ducked her head.

"S'alright if she stays for dinner?" Bellamy asked and leaned against the counter.

"Of course," Aurora nodded. "I'm making arroz caldo. Prinsesa mo?" she tilted her head at Bellamy.

He reddened in response and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Di siya sa'kin," he answered and rolled his eyes.

Aurora's mouth curved up in a signature, Blake smirk.

"Sa kanya ka ba?," she sang.

"Tumahimik," Bellamy grumbled and pushed off of the counter towards Clarke.

Aurora turned and directed her gaze at Clarke.

"You're welcome here anytime," she smiled broadly.

"Yeah, yeah," Bellamy muttered and all but shoved Clarke out of the kitchen.

"What'd she say?" Clarke whispered once they were out of earshot.

"Nothing, she's crazy," Bellamy flapped his hand. "Wait here, I'll go get my laptop."

Clarke watched his retreating form stomp down the hall until he disappeared into what she presumed was his bedroom. She sighed and flopped down on the couch next to Octavia.

"You never told me you took jiu jitsu," she poked her in the arm.

"It never came up," Octavia glanced at her before turning back to the TV. "I was a little busy trying to figure out how to draw parabolas."

Clarke poked her again and she grinned.

"How long have you been doing it?"

"Since I was 12," Octavia screwed up her face. "Bell signed me up for some free self-defense lessons at the community centre," she explained. "I didn't want to go but he pretty much forced me to because we didn't live in the best neighbourhood."

"Such a stubborn, little boy," Clarke shook her head exasperatedly.

"Right?" Octavia raised her eyebrows. "But he ended up being right because I loved it and wanted to keep going. There were no more defense lessons at the community centre but the instructor taught jiu jitsu at a studio downtown and asked if I wanted to join. Bellamy convinced her to let him work there in exchange for free lessons for me."

"He must have been only 14," Clarke said, "what kind of work did she have him do?"

"I don't know, a little bit of everything," Octavia shrugged. "Clean the bathrooms, disinfect the mats, landscape outside the studio, keep time at jiu jitsu tournaments, that sort of thing. Indra's a hardass but she gave us a good deal. As soon as I was old enough she started paying me to coach the younger kids."

"Wow," Clarke exhaled and looked down at her hands.

"I know, she's awesome, right?" Octavia smiled.

Clarke opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Bellamy entering the living room with a bulky laptop clutched in his hands.

"Alright, I think I found the right video," he announced. "O, are you working out with us or what?" he looked up.

"Nah, I should go study," Octavia sighed and got to her feet. "You probably wouldn't be able to keep up with me and it'd be discouraging for you," she frowned apologetically and patted his shoulder.

"Get out," he said and straight-armed her.

She stumbled into the wall but recovered quickly and skipped away down the hall, giggling the whole way. Bellamy's eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head at the ceiling.

"Lord grant me the patience," he muttered.

Together, he and Clarke pushed the coffee table out of the way to clear a space to workout. They spent the next half hour alternating between lunges, jump squats, and coming up with creative new ways to curse out the fitness trainer in the video.

"Alright kids, chests up, heads up, jump on this one. Like a cat," the trainer chirped from the laptop speakers.

"You dead eyed piece of shit," Bellamy huffed breathlessly.

"He's a god damn cyborg," Clarke gritted out. "I wanna clock that smug smile off his little lizard face."

Bellamy burst out laughing mid squat and nearly fell over.

"Mom says its time for dinner," Octavia appeared in the doorway.

"Thank god," Bellamy said and paused the video. "I don't know how much more of that I can take."

They followed Octavia into the kitchen and sat around the table where Aurora had ladled out bowls of stew.

"Thanks for having me for dinner," Clarke said, "this smells amazing."

"Anytime," Aurora inclined her head.

"You're not staying for dinner?" Bellamy looked up from the three place settings at the table.

"No, I have to get to work," Aurora said and rummaged through her purse.

"But you haven't eaten," Bellamy said sharply.

"I ate while I cooked," she assured him. She ruffled his hair and placed a kiss on Octavia's cheek. "I'll be back in the morning, okay? Call me if you need anything. Mahal kita," she said and swept out the door.

"Mahal kita," Bellamy and Octavia echoed back to her.

The door slammed shut and locked noisily with a click.

"Does that mean goodbye?" Clarke asked after a spoonful of stew. "Mahal kita," she tried out the words on her tongue.

"No," Bellamy said, smiling a little at her clumsy repetition. "It means I love you."

"Oh," Clarke said and looked down at her stew, her cheeks pinking.

"You speak any other languages at home?" Bellamy asked.

"Not really," Clarke shook her head. "My dad used to speak French with me but mostly just when he was telling me what to do. Just brossez les dents!" she growled fiercely and wagged a finger. "Or chuchotez! whenever my mom had important people over and I had to be quiet."

"Shoo-sho-tay," Octavia mimicked and furrowed her brow in an impression of Clarke. "What's it mean?"

"Whisper," Clarke grinned. "He didn't know much French but that was his favourite word. He thought it was an onomatopoeia," she rolled her eyes.

"Onomatopoeia, go," Bellamy said and pointed a finger at Octavia.

"It's a word that sounds like the source of the sound it describes," Octavia recited.

"Good," Bellamy nodded. "O's prepping for the pSAT," he said at Clarke's bemused expression.

"Ugh, I hated studying vocab," Clarked grimaced. "Never really learned words from flashcards anyway, I learned the most just from reading."

"That's what Bell said," Octavia slurped her stew.

They spent most days after school like this. They'd go to practice if they had the ice time after school or else go to the mezzanine to lift weights or the pond to practice their routine. Afterward, they'd head to the Blakes' apartment to work out in the living room and do homework at the kitchen table. Sometimes Aurora was home to make them dinner but most of the time she was at work and it was up to Bellamy to put something together while Clarke and Octavia hovered around the stove. They ate a lot of spaghetti and grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Do you think it'd be gross to put hot dogs in a stir fry?" Bellamy asked one day with his head in the fridge.

"Yes," Clarke and Octavia said together.

Clarke showed up one Saturday morning with bags full of groceries in hand.

"I can't stay, my mom's waiting in the car," she said when Bellamy answered the door. "She says if I insist on eating all my meals here I have to at least help keep the fridge stocked."

She pushed past him and dropped the bags down on the kitchen floor. She straightened up to see Bellamy gaping in the doorway.

"Close your mouth, you look like a goldfish," she said with red rising in her cheeks.

"You don't have to do this," Bellamy waved at the bags.

"I know," Clarke sighed. "But listen, you don't know my mom. It was either this or she'd invite you and Octavia and your mom over for dinner and I really don't feel like sitting through that charade."

"Which part exactly would be a charade?" Bellamy asked slowly.

Clarke looked to the ceiling and opened her mouth but just then a car horn blared from outside. Clarke jumped and Bellamy glanced at the window.

"That would be my mom," Clarke rolled her eyes. "She's dropping me off at work on her way to the hospital, I gotta go."

She brushed by him and jerked the front door open.

"Are we still skating tonight?" Bellamy called after her.

"Yeah, I'll text you later," she said over her shoulder.

Bellamy returned to the kitchen to find Octavia already putting away groceries.

"Bell, check it out," she said. She held up a box of go-gurts, another box of all bran bars, and chips ahoy cookies.

"She bought all your favourites," Octavia grinned up at him. "I think you should marry her."


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you ready?" Clarke asked.

"Uh huh," Bellamy nodded and stared hard at the office door.

"Alright, let's do this," Clarke responded. She stepped forward and knocked on the door before falling back into place next to Bellamy. The blinds were drawn on the office windows but they could hear footsteps nearing the door and Clarke squeezed Bellamy's bicep.

"Quit it," he hissed and swatted her hand away.

"You quit it," she hissed back.

The door swung open and Principal Jaha stood in the doorframe staring at them over his glasses.

"Mr. Blake, Miss Griffin," he greeted them, "Can I help you with anything?"

Bellamy cleared his throat.

"We were just wondering if you could spare a minute to talk to us."

Clarke pinched his side. Discreetly. He jolted in place.

"Uh, sir," he tacked on hastily.

Principal Jaha looked between the two of them and took a deep breath.

"Certainly," he said. "Come on in."

They followed Principal Jaha to his desk. When Jaha started rounding the corner of the desk, Clarke dropped down to take a seat but Bellamy jerked her up by the elbow and gave a subtle shake of his head. He waited until Jaha sat down before lowering himself into his own chair and Clarke followed suit.

"Sir, we came today to talk to you about the showcase-" Clarke said.

"Miss Griffin, I'm sorry, but my answer has not changed since the last time we spoke. The school simply cannot afford to fund entry in showcase tournaments for both the ice hockey team and the skate team."

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about sir," Bellamy cut in. "We think we've found a way for it to be feasible."

Jaha folded his hands together and looked between the two of them attentively.

"Go on," he said.

"The Winter Games," Clarke said. "It's one tournament with several different sporting events- including both figure skating and hockey. There will be college scouts from all over the country. One tournament so that means a lower cost of transportation and we'd get group deals on accommodations."

"What about the entry fee?" Jaha asked.

"It's steep," Bellamy nodded. "But we thought of that too. With your permission, we'd like to make the next hockey game against Mount Weather a buy-out. Students pay two dollars to buy out of class and go watch the game. All the money would go towards covering the entry fee."

"Hm," Jaha hummed and took of his glasses. "That could work," he nodded. "But I would still need to pay at least one staff member to go along and supervise the students for the whole weekend."

"Yes," Clarke agreed, "We asked several faculty and both Mr. Kane and Mr. Sinclair are willing to volunteer their time for the duration of the tournament."

Jaha picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers while nodding down at his desk.

"Alright," he said finally. "Send me an e-mail with all of the details. Date, location, accommodations, entry fees- everything. Forward the e-mail to Miss Byrne. She'll arrange transportation and make the reservations at the hotel. I'll send a memo out to the faculty today about the buy-out. If you write out a blurb by the end of the day, we can start bringing it up on the morning announcements tomorrow. Is there anything else?"

Bellamy openly gaped at Jaha with his jaw on the floor. Clarke stepped on his foot and he quickly scrambled to rearrange his features.

"No sir, that's all," Clarke said. "Thank you very much."

"Yes, thank you sir," Bellamy said.

"Alright," Jaha waved a hand. "Get to class. And make sure you send me that e-mail."

Clarke and Bellamy stood up, Clarke nodding fervently the whole time and Bellamy pausing to bend at the waist and lower his head. Jaha squinted his eyes in a frown. Clarke grabbed Bellamy's sleeve and tugged him out the door and into the hallway.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Clarke said under her breath.

"Did that work?" Bellamy asked. "Did that really work?"

He looked back at the office and licked his lips.

"Wait a second," he turned to Clarke. "Did I bow? Did I fucking bow to Jaha?"

"You did," Clarke nodded. "You straight up put your hands together and bowed on your way out the door, he definitely noticed."

"Oh god," he whispered and covered his eyes with one hand.

"It's fine," Clarke said and patted his shoulder. "I'm sure Jaha already thought you were socially inept, this won't change his opinion of you much."

Bellamy huffed and gave her a firm shove but when she stumbled backwards he caught a hold of her wrist and tugged her upright.

"Sorry!" he laughed at her indignant expression. "I'm sorry," he insisted and slid his grip down to squeeze her hand. "What's the plan now anyway?" he asked.

Clarke pursed her lips.

"Write the blurb at lunch and tell the team tonight at practice?" she asked.

"Sounds good," Bellamy agreed. "I'll meet you at your locker." He smiled easily, squeezed her hand once and took off for class.

That afternoon at practice, Bellamy ended his scrimmage early with a high-pitched whistle.

"Bring it in. Everybody circle up!" he barked.

The boys all skated to him at once, spraying him with ice.

"Thanks a lot," he brushed off his pants. "Skate team, you're in this too," he waved them off the bench.

The hockey players shuffled around to let the figure skaters join ranks in their circle. Clarke appeared at Bellamy's shoulder and he elbowed her silently in the ribs.

"Alright," Clarke clapped her hands. "We have a bit of an announcement."

The general chatter hushed and everyone turned their eyes to Bellamy and Clarke.

"We just finished talks with Jaha," Clarke said. "And he approved our plans for the showcase tournament."

"For the skate team?" Murphy drawled.

"For both teams," Clarke grinned.

Immediately, the crowd of hockey players and skaters broke into excited chatter as everyone started asking questions at once.

"QUIET!" Bellamy bellowed.

"Both the skate team and the hockey team will be competing in the Pittsburgh Winter Games," Clarke continued. "Its on the first weekend of March and we're raising money to cover all the expenses by hosting a buy-out game against Mount Weather. We're not sure how much we're going to be able to cover with the money we raise so start saving up- you might have to cover your hotel room," she broke off and looked up at Bellamy.

"That's right," he agreed. "And remember to book that weekend off work, we need everyone at the showcase- scouts from all the D1 schools in the Big Ten, Atlantic conference, and East conference will be there," he said.

"In the meantime," Clarke cut in, "We need everyone building hype for this buy-out game. Really talk up our rivalry with Mount Weather. I want to hear rumours getting repeated in the hallways," Clarke said.

Bellamy nodded in agreement.

"Tell your friends about any time you've dropped gloves with a kid from Mount Weather," he spoke up. "Tell them about that time they got Principal Wallace's kid to ref one of our games. Tell them about all of the high checks to the neck and head. I want everyone to buy-out for this game," Bellamy insisted and thumped his stick against the ice.

There was a murmur of assent throughout the crowd.

"And once we've sold out the game," Bellamy grinned, "I want us to kick their asses in front of the entire school."

The boys immediately started slapping their hockey sticks against the ice and calling out to one another.

"I think we've lost them," Clarke observed mildly.

"Alright," Bellamy hollered. "Announcement over, hit the showers."

The hockey team and the skaters all crowded around the door, clamoring to get to the bench, exchange horror stories about Mount Weather, and speculate about the road trip to Pittsburgh.

"They're so excited," Clarke commented, a smile pulling at her lips.

"They should be," Bellamy replied. "I'm so excited," he admitted. "I mean the scouts and the opportunity is one thing but then there's Pittsburgh too," he licked his lips. "I've never been anywhere," he lowered his head.

"Well you're going now," Clarke said. "You're going to be travelling a lot once you're a wolverine."

"If I become a wolverine," Bellamy corrected her. "Hey!" he barked at the crowd milling around the gate. "Guys, you're blocking the doorway!"

He was largely ignored. Bellamy huffed and rolled his eyes.

"No common sense, I swear to god," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. He flicked his head up at Clarke and she nodded. In response, he lifted Clarke by the waist and swung her up to sit on top of the boards.

"Thanks," she said. "Speaking of wolverines," she tugged on the front of his jersey. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" he frowned and ducked his head to catch her eye.

She kicked her skate against the boards and tugged on his jersey again.

"I got into U of M," she breathed.

"What?!" Bellamy said loud enough that several heads turned their way. "I mean," he lowered his voice. "Clarke that's great," he grinned.

She nodded fervently and pounded a fist against the boards. "I got my acceptance letter this morning," she said, unable to keep from beaming. "So you should be getting yours any day now."

"Don't count on it," he shook his head. "But who cares, I'll worry about that later. You're in," he grinned again. "What'd your mom say?"

"Nothing yet," she admitted. "You're kind of the first person I told."

He smiled down at his skates and bobbed his head.

"Well, hey, congratulations," he said and shook her knee. "Now you just need to kill it at the showcase."

"We do," she corrected him.

He blanched and she reached out to catch a hold of his glove.

"Hey," she said, "we'll do great."

IIIIII

It was a Tuesday when Clarke saw Octavia hurtling past Bellamy in the hallway with tears in her eyes. Octavia shoved past him, her long, dark hair whipping behind her and her green eyes flashing even as she cried. She pushed through the door to the girls' bathroom, leaving Bellamy to stand alone in the hallway.

"Hey," Clarke asked as she approached. "What's going on."

Bellamy turned to face her, his neck flushed red and his hands balled into fists. He gestured helplessly at the girls' bathroom door.

"It's O," he said. "The fucking guidance counselor just told her she needs a more 'realistic career path'. Apparently girls from the south side don't go to college," he spat. He paced back and forth as he spoke with his hands gesticulating wildly and the colour rising in his cheeks.

"Octavia wanted to get into junior level calculus for next semester but this fucking counselor won't let her do it, said it was a waste of time."

"Who?" Clarke asked sharply. Her blue eyes iced over and she stood very still. Her tone was harsh enough that Bellamy stopped his pacing at once.

"Which guidance counselor was it?" she asked again, her voice low and quiet.

"Uh," Bellamy stuttered under her cold gaze, "Mrs. Sydney," he said.

Clarke clenched her jaw and raised her chin.

"Wait here," she instructed and turned on her heel towards the guidance office.

"But Clarke," he called after her.

"I said wait here."

Bellamy hunched his shoulders to keep from shivering as he watched her walk into the office. He heard the bathroom door swing open behind him and turned to see Octavia emerging with splotchy cheeks but dry eyes.

"Okay," she said, her shoulders rising as she took a deep breath. "I'm going back in there and I'm telling her that I'm not leaving til she puts me in the class."

"Get in line," Bellamy scoffed but put his arm around her.

"What do you mean?" Octavia asked.

Bellamy sighed and squeezed her shoulder.

"Clarke may have gone in there to tell off Mrs. Sydney," he admitted. "Or kill her, I'm not sure which."

"What?" Octavia demanded. "Are you serious?"

She craned her neck to try and see through the window to the guidance office.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded.

Octavia cocked her head and squinted at the office door.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"I guess we wait," Bellamy shrugged.

"Are you sure?" Octavia looked up at him. "Shouldn't we be in there?"

He looked down at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Do you want to be in there?"

Octavia sucked in her bottom lip and stared hard at the door.

"I'm doing it," she muttered and marched off towards the door.

Bellamy rolled his eyes to the ceiling but followed.

They walked in to see Clarke talking to the receptionist, her back ram rod straight and her hands folded on the desk in front of her.

"I'm afraid you can't see her now, she's on her lunch break."

"Is she in her office or in the staff room?" Clarke asked.

The receptionist hesitated.

"Her office but-"

"Thank you," Clarke interrupted and turned away from the desk. She raised an eyebrow when she spotted the Blakes waiting behind her but she didn't say anything.

"This way," Octavia pointed and lead them towards Mrs. Sydney's office.

She rapped three times on the door but didn't wait for an answer before she cranked the doorknob and pushed it open.

"Hi Mrs. Sydney, it's me again," she said by way of introduction. "I was in here earlier to ask you about switching into junior calculus, you probably remember, it was 15 minutes ago."

She stared the woman down while Clarke and Bellamy filed into the room after her. Mrs. Sydney put her sandwich down and sighed.

"Yes, I remember Miss Blake. But I hope that's not why you're here now because nothing's changed in the last 15 minutes. There's still no room in that class."

"But you didn't say there was no room in the class," Octavia said. "You said there was no room for me."

"Yes, Miss Blake. There are students who want to get into that class who actually need it in order to go to college."

Bellamy bristled and Clarke bumped her shoulder against his as a warning.

"Yes, I'm one of those students," Octavia countered. "I told you this. I plan on applying to nursing programs. Calculus is a prerequisite for every RN program I've looked at."

"Miss Blake, I think you're biting off more than you can chew," Mrs. Sydney shook her head and pursed her lips.

"In what way, exactly?" Clarke asked.

Mrs. Sydney's head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes.

"Miss Griffin, this doesn't concern you, you really shouldn't be here."

"I'm Octavia's math tutor, she's acing the class, so I'm just curious- in what way is she biting off more than she can chew? She's clearly capable of doing the work and she's getting good grades."

"She's on subsidy as it is," Mrs. Sydney snapped. "If her mother can't even afford a thousand dollars for SAT prep, how the hell is she going to pay for college?"

Clarke's eyes flashed and Bellamy made a low growling sound that he subsequently tried to disguise as a cough. Reeling, Mrs. Sydney took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"What I mean is, its unfair to the other students. If I put Octavia in the class then students who are actually going to college will miss out. She should consider a PSW course at a community college instead."

"She's right here," Octavia waved.

"So that's your reason then, money?" Clarke pressed. "I just want to make sure I'm hearing this right. Your story is that you're discriminating on the grounds of socio-economic status?"

"Discrimination? Oh, don't be ridiculous, Clarke-"

"What would you call it? Because I'm pretty sure Principle Jaha would call it discrimination. I'm pretty sure the Board of Governors would call it discrimination too."

"Clarke, you're a student here, don't you walk into my office and threaten me-"

"It's not a threat," Clarke said quietly. "It's not my policy, it's the Board's policy. There is zero tolerance for discrimination. If a student's work merits admission to a core course, they will not be denied entry on the basis of race, creed, disability, socioeconomic position, gender-"

"That's enough, Clarke. I'm well aware of Board policy," Mrs. Sydney blustered, her face reddening.

"So what do I have to do?" Octavia asked. "Sit in on the class and do all the homework and take the tests and enroll through the backdoor later? Go over your head to Jaha? To the Board?"

"Don't forget about going to the press," Bellamy chimed in. "Ypsi is a small town, I'm sure we could find someone to run with a story about classism in public high schools."

"Enough," Mrs. Sydney said again. "You're blowing this out of proportion. I'm a guidance counselor, I'm here to advise you on the best academic plan for your situation. If you want to ignore my advice, fine. You can enroll in the class. But first you'll need approval from Jaha and your sophomore math teacher."

She whipped open a drawer in her filing cabinet and pulled out a form.

"Have them both sign this and return it to me by the end of the day," she extended her arm over the desk towards Octavia.

"Now, out," she gestured towards the door. "I'm on my lunch, you shouldn't be in here."

"Alright, well thanks for your help," Octavia said drily.

With that she turned on her heel and headed towards the door. Bellamy and Clarke exchanged a look before moving to follow her.

"What a load of shit," Clarke grumbled through gritted teeth once they were out of hearing distance. "I took junior calculus in the second semester of my sophomore year and they didn't make me get approval from anyone."

"I don't care how many signatures they ask for as long as they let me in the class," Octavia shrugged.

"It's just ridiculous that there's this much of a run-around," Clarke insisted.

"Hm," Bellamy grunted. "How did you know all that about Board policy?" he asked.

"I didn't," Clarke admitted, "I just guessed."

Octavia threw her head back and laughed. Bellamy grinned crookedly but continued to stare at Clarke from the corner of his eye.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Bellamy shook his head. "Just, uh, thanks for going in there," he stammered and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah," Octavia sobered. "Thanks. I mean I would have gotten it done without you but there probably would have been a lot more yelling."

Bellamy snorted and flicked her in the side of the head.

"You would have held your breath til she put you in the class or you passed out- whichever came first."

"Maybe," Octavia agreed. "But I would've gotten in the class."

Bellamy and Clarke both snickered.

"But seriously," Octavia said and squeezed Clarke's arm. "Thank you. Both of you," she turned and stood on tiptoe to kiss Bellamy on the cheek. "I'm going to go get Jaha's autograph. I'll see you guys at home."

They watched her walk away towards Jaha's office in silence.

"Want to go to the caf and get oatmeal cookies?" Bellamy asked, his eyes not straying from Octavia's back.

"I think we deserve it," Clarke agreed.

IIIIIII

The following week found Clarke and Bellamy lying on the floor of the mezzanine, sprawled out and shifting gingerly on foam rollers.

Bellamy groaned and massaged his leg forcefully.

"I don't understand how my calves could possibly be this tight. We should never have done that plyo workout."

"Hey," Clarke looked up sharply, "that plyo workout is going to make you a more powerful skater. Run faster, jump higher, and explode with more force," she recited solemnly.

"Hmph," Bellamy grunted. "In the meantime I can't even walk down a flight of stairs."

"Me neither," Clarke admitted. "I may or may not have taken to sliding down the banister at home."

Bellamy snorted and tipped back his giant water bottle.

"You want some?" he asked and held it out to Clarke.

She took it and stared at the thick, brown, drink inside. "What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"Chocolate protein shake," Bellamy responded. "I put banana in it."

Clarke hummed approvingly and took a sip, pulling her feet together in a butterfly stretch as she did.

"You working tonight?" she asked between sips.

"No," he shook his head. "It's going to be a late night, I've gotta write up some supplementary applications. Deadline's tomorrow night."

"Supplementary applications?" Clarke cocked her head. "I thought you already applied to your three choice schools."

"Yeah, well," Bellamy avoided her gaze, "figured it wouldn't hurt to apply to some back ups," he said.

"Back ups," Clarke said flatly. "Bellamy, you're going to get into Michigan State for sure, probably U of M too. Your transcripts and extracurriculars are good," she insisted.

"I know," he said and stretched out a leg, futilely attempting to touch his toe.

Clarke frowned.

"Then what's with the back ups?" she asked.

He sighed. "I'm applying to trade school."

"Why?" she blurted out so quickly that he cocked an eyebrow.

"Too lowbrow for you, princess?" he drawled.

"No," she shook her head. "It's a smart choice- job security and good money," she shrugged, "I just didn't think it's what you wanted. What ever happened to majoring in Classics?"

He shrugged. "I mean, I'd like to but its not exactly practical," he muttered through gritted teeth and looked pointedly at the floor.

She watched him carefully before pressing her lips together.

"Alright," she nodded. "I'll be up late tonight doing my lab report so you can send me your applications for proofreading if you want," she said. She took another sip of protein shake.

Bellamy looked up sharply and scanned her face, his eyes appraising.

"What?" she asked.

"You don't," he faltered, "you don't think I'm making a mistake?"

Her eyes softened.

"I think you're doing what you have to do to protect your sister," she said gently. "That's who you are."

He ducked his head and nodded at the floor.

"It just hit me the other day," he licked his lips. "That even with a hockey scholarship I'm going to need to take out loans to pay for room and board and textbooks. . .and then I thought of Octavia and realized she'd have to do the same," he grimaced.

"She can do it though, Bellamy. Like you said, she's someone who works for what she wants, she'll figure it out."

"But she'll have to compromise," his face darkened. "I know I'm stuck going to a state school to keep costs down and that's fine, that'll work for me. But her- I want her to be able to go wherever she wants," he thumped his knuckle against the floor. "And maybe to make that happen, I gotta go to trade school. Maybe I can't major in history."

He drew his knees to his chest and leaned his head against his arms, tilting his head sideways to look at her.

"I don't know, what do you think, princess?"

She took one last sip of protein shake and handed it back to him.

"I think you're letting Diana fucking Sydney get in your head," Clarke said. "And you're underestimating O. She'll get a job, or get a loan, or get a scholarship- she'll work it out."

Bellamy nodded but his jaw clenched tightly. Clarke sighed.

"Listen, if you're that worried you can always go to trade school first and then go back to college later. You have options and you have time. I just think you're going to end up at grad school eventually," she smiled. "I don't think you could stay away."

His mouth turned up at that and he nodded again before taking a sip of protein shake.

"Okay," he nodded at the floor again. "Okay."

"There's really no way for you to fuck this up," Clarke said. "You're always working towards something so you're not going to ruin your life because you picked one program over another. Whatever you do, you're going to excel at it."

He raised his head to look at her- the crease still between his brows and his dark eyes searching her face.

"C'mon," Clarke said and scrambled to her feet. "Let's get out of here, we've got work to do."

He allowed her to pull him to up but once he was standing he held fast to her hand.  
He squeezed her fingers and tugged her forward to rest his cheek against the crown of her head.

"Thanks, princess."

IIIIIII

"Can't you talk to her?"

"And say what? Don't date the hot guy with the tattoos?"

"He's a senior, Clarke. And he goes to Trikru Public. I'm not saying don't date him, I'm just saying be smart about it."

"She's Octavia, of course she'll be smart about it. Besides, why can't you tell her yourself?"

"She won't listen to me about this. She'll listen to you, you're a girl."

"Oh, well spotted."

"Do not shoehorn Harry Potter references into this conversation just so you can change the subject."

"I'm not," Clarke insisted. "Since when does being a girl make me qualified to give out dating advice anyway? The only person I've dated is Lexa and that didn't exactly turn out so well."

"Yeah, but Octavia doesn't know that! For all she knows you're Dr. fucking Phil."

Clarke stopped walking at once and twisted round to look at him.

"Dr. Phil?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, I panicked," he admitted. "I couldn't think of a relationship guru off the top of my head."

"I think we both just need to accept that between the three of us, Octavia is the relationship guru," Clarke said, and resumed walking to take the stairs two at a time.

"Yeah, somehow I doubt that," Bellamy scoffed.

"Well, your doubts don't mean shit because she's the only one of us that's actually in a relationship," Clarke pointed out.

Bellamy pulled a face and fished his keys out of his jacket pocket.

"Getting into a relationship is easy," he said as he twisted his keys in the lock. "Getting into a relationship with the right person is hard."

"Wow, very profound, Bellamy," Clarke mocked in a deep voice.

"Thanks," he rolled his eyes and held the door open for her.

Clarke pushed past him and toed off her shoes.

"Bellamy," a high voice called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, mom, just a minute," Bellamy called back as he slid his jacket off his shoulders.

He and Clarke walked into the kitchen to find Aurora standing next to the kitchen table. She stared at him expectantly and jittered in place, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

"Mom," Bellamy said in alarm, "What's wrong?" he asked and crossed the room to brace her at the elbows.

"Nothing, bata," she shook her head and smiled tremulously before lifting up an envelope from the table.

The envelope was huge and white with large blue lettering spelling out UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN across the front. Bellamy caught sight of it and stopped stock still. His eyes widened and he gulped hard.

"It came in the mail today," Aurora said softly and passed it to him.

Bellamy took the envelope in his hands gingerly and looked from the Ann Arbor address to Clarke.

"What do I do?" he whispered.

"Open it!" Clarke and Aurora called out together.

Hands shaking, Bellamy ripped open the envelope. The paper fluttered slightly between his fingers and his eyes darted back and forth as he quickly skimmed the words. He barked out a laugh and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I got in."

Aurora screamed and nearly jumped across the room to take his cheeks in her hands.

"My baby," she shouted and squeezed his chin between her thumb and forefinger. "He's the first in our family to go to college!" She said to Clarke while shaking his face in her hands.

Bellamy was too happy to remember to look disgruntled about this treatment and he ended up flinging a page of his acceptance letter across the floor in his haste to hug his mom back.

Grinning, Clarke bent to pick up the loose leaf of paper.

"Bellamy. . ." she dragged out in an undertone.

"What?" he asked.

"They're offering you an academic scholarship."

"WHAT?!"

Clarke handed him the page and his eyes bulged.

"$2500?" he looked up at her for confirmation, his eyes wide.

Clarke nodded, beaming, and he nearly bowled her over with a hug.

"What?" Aurora asked. "What is it?"

Bellamy disentangled himself from Clarke to say something in rapid tagalog and Aurora screamed and hugged him all over again. Aurora started to jump up and down and Clarke couldn't stop compulsively clapping. Octavia poked her head in the doorway and looked at each of them in turn with her mouth ajar and her brows pushed together.

"What's going on in here?" she asked.

Clarke and Aurora both froze and looked at Bellamy.

"I got into U of M," he grinned.

Octavia screeched and hurtled into him. She tried to lift him by the waist but she stumbled and nearly sent them both sprawling.

"ROCKY, ROCKY, ROCKY!"

"Octavia, stop!" he shouted when she kept trying to hoist him in the air. The effect was slightly ruined though because he couldn't stop laughing.

"Hey! Cut it out!" Aurora clapped her hands together. "You two are going to ruin my kitchen," she shouted. "That's it," she announced. "I'm taking you all out for ice cream."

As days go, that one was pretty good.


	5. Chapter 5

"Alright, let's do this," Bellamy skated towards the bench. "I'm gonna nail the layback spin today, I can feel it."

Clarke glided out to meet him and placed a hand on his chest.

"Not today, okay?" she said and shook her head no.

"Clarke, please," he insisted. "I am sick of twizzles, just let me work on cool shit just this once and then we'll go back to your boring Mr. Miyagi methods."

The corner of her mouth quirked up slightly but she shook her head again.

"It's not that," she said, "I just- I want to skate on my own today, okay? We'll work on spins tomorrow."

Bellamy cocked his head slightly and leaned down to look at her.

"Just you?" he asked. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded and squeezed his arm. "Just take a break today, alright?"

"Alright," he agreed. He ghosted a hand over her hip as he skated past her and hopped back over the boards to sit on the bench.

Clarke didn't even wait for her music to begin before she started skating. She pumped her legs and raced down the ice, quickly gaining speed and launching herself into the air. She landed on one foot and whipped around, her blades cutting into the ice with a slicing sound that silenced the chatter on the bench. She drew her arms into her chest and threw herself into a spin at full-tilt, her body a blur. She lacked all of her usual precision and elegance and instead opted for a sort of fierce, aggressive skate that saw her crashing around all over the ice. What she lost in refinery she made up for with sheer power- she reached speeds and heights that she hadn't reached all season. By this point, both the members of the skate team and the hockey team were all watching Clarke from the bench with their mouths hanging open.

With her program song coming to an end, Clarke cut across the ice and threw herself into a jump. She spun in the air once, twice, three times- a triple salchow! In that moment she seemed to float above the ice as everyone awaited her landing with bated breath. Despite practicing for weeks, she hadn't landed the trick all season. Her blades touched down on the ice, and she glided away smoothly, causing the bench to erupt with cheers. The skate team jumped up from the bench and all of the hockey players thumped their sticks against the ground. Bellamy only watched with a frown.

When her music came to an end, Clarke stepped off the ice and yanked her skate guards on before walking over to the bench. Several of the boys slapped her on the back and pawed at her hair with gloved hands before heading onto the ice to scrimmage. She smiled tightly in response and sat down next to Bellamy, squirting a line of water into her mouth. He leaned his elbows against his knees and drummed his stick against the ground.

"Alright?" he asked and nudged his shoulder into hers.

"Mhm," she hummed and took a giant gulp of water.

"Alright," he stood to his feet and knocked his stick against her skate.

"Hey," she said suddenly and grabbed a hold of his forearm. "Can I study at your place tonight?"

He looked down at her searchingly, his brow puckered.

Blue eyes blinked up at him through blond lashes.

"Please," she implored softly.

His clumsy, gloved, fingers pressed against her hand.

"Of course."

After practice, Clarke and Bellamy piled into the truck and waited for it to heat up enough to drive.

"Bell?" Clarke asked.

"Hm," he hummed as he fiddled with the dials for the heat.

"Do you think we could stop by my house on the way home?"

"What?" he looked up. "You want to go to your place?"

"Not really," Clarke scrunched up her nose. "But I need to pick up some things."

Bellamy frowned.

"Some things," he said flatly. "Clarke, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she shook her head. "It's silly," she looked down at her lap and touched her fingers to her wrist.

Bellamy felt his heart lurch but couldn't discern why.

"Okay," he said.

When they pulled up in front of Clarke's house, her mom's silver lexus was already parked in the driveway. Clarke groaned.

"I didn't think she'd be home so soon," she let her head thud against the window.

"You still want to go in?" Bellamy asked. "I can turn this car around."

"No," Clarke shook her head. "Let's go in."

They walked up the front drive and Bellamy craned his neck to look up at the house. When they reached the front door, Clarke punched in a code and after a mechanical, grinding sound, she eased the door open.

"Come on," she whispered. "In and out."

She toed off her shoes and scurried lightly up the stairs, waving over her shoulder for Bellamy to follow. The wooden banister shined brightly as though it had just been polished and the walls were all painted a light cream. Bellamy barely had time to glance at the tasteful artwork framed on the wall before Clarke pulled him into a room off the main hallway upstairs.

This room was different than the rest of the house. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow and books were stacked haphazardly on shelves, on the floor, and on the nightstand. In the centre of the room stood a four-poster bed with a duvet in a robin's egg blue cover. Watercolour paintings and charcoal sketches were pegged to a clothesline that stretched across the wall.

Clarke walked in and plucked a watch off the desk in the corner. She slid it over her wrist and start fiddling with the clasp.

"I got it," Bellamy assured her and crossed the room to brush her hand away. He held her wrist delicately in one hand and clipped the clasp shut with the other. He turned her wrist over and ran his thumb across the clock face.

"It was my dad's," Clarke explained, her voice low.

"I know," Bellamy murmured, his fingertips pressing into her pulse point.

"Clarke?!" a woman's voice called from downstairs.

Bellamy dropped her hand and turned to the door while Clarke winced.

"Is that-"

"My mom," Clarke muttered. "Time to go."

She grabbed him by the sleeve and nearly dragged him out of her room and down the stairs. Her feet flew down the steps, pattering against the mahogany. They were at the last step when Clarke's mother appeared in the foyer. Clarke reared up so quickly that Bellamy collided into her back. It took the combined effort of his hands steadying her hips and her arm hooking around the banister to keep them from toppling into the entryway.

"Mom," Clarke gulped and straightened up. "We were just leaving."

Her mother stood with her back straight and her long, chesnut hair twisting over her shoulder. Her dark eyes slid from Clarke to Bellamy and back again.

"Now?" she asked. "You just got here. I haven't even met your, uh- friend."

Bellamy looked down at Clarke but she was staring at her feet with her mouth clamped shut and her jaw clenched.

"I'm Bellamy," he said and leaned over the railing to extend his hand.

"Oh, this is Bellamy," she nodded and shook his hand. "I'm Dr. Griffin. But you can call me Abby."

Clarke snorted and shook her head. Both Abby and Bellamy turned to look at her but she continued to stare at the carpet.

"Well," Abby said, her eyes sliding back to Bellamy, "You're welcome to stay for dinner. Seems only fair since Clarke eats most of her dinners at your house."

"No," Clarke said suddenly, her head snapping up. "No, like I said, we were just leaving."

She unrooted herself from the bottom stair and stepped into the foyer. Bellamy followed close behind her.

"Clarke, did you get my texts?" Abby asked

"Yeah," Clarke said and shoved Bellamy's shoes into his hands. "I'm not coming, I'm busy."

"Busy," her mom repeated. "I just thought you'd want to go-"

"I don't," Clarke said.

Abby took a steadying breath, her eyes fluttering closed.

"But today is-"

"I know what day it is," Clarke interrupted. "And what I want to do is go to Bellamy's house and work on my homework."

"Bellamy could come, you know," Abby suggested. "He could come with us, I just," she trailed off and reached for Clarke's hand. "Please," she said quieter, "I need you today."

Clarke snatched her hand away and took a step back.

"No," she said firmly. "No, you don't get to do that. He needed you," she spat. "He needed you and you gave him up, so no, you don't get to need me today."

"Clarke," Abby tried again.

"Bye mom," Clarke wrenched the front door open. "I'm not coming home tonight, I'll see you tomorrow."

She stormed out and the screen door slammed shut behind her. Abby stared after her daughter, glassy eyed and with a quivering lip. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair before reaching out to brace Abby at the elbow.

"I'm sorry," he muttered in a low voice. Abby nodded without looking at him and he took that as his cue to trail out the door.

Clarke was already sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, looking pointedly out the window despite the fact that the vehicle was unmoving and she was staring at the neighbour's driveway.

Bellamy climbed in, fumbling to put his keys in the starter and shift the truck into gear. He didn't say anything; he just backed the truck out of the driveway and started driving nowhere in particular. When he heard Clarke sniffling, he shot her one sidelong glance before returning his eyes to the road and reaching across the console, his hand turned over, palm up. Clarke placed her hand in his, and he wove their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over hers.

They drove around like that for ages, hands tangled together and rested on the stick shift, with Clarke curled up on her seat, staring silently out the window.

"You ever heard of Deep Throat?" she asked finally, her voice low and level.

Bellamy turned his head and looked from the road to her and back.

"Uhh," he croaked uncertainly.

"Not the pornstar," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking about Linda Lovelace. I'm talking about Watergate."

"The secret informant," Bellamy nodded. "Yeah."

Clarke scratched at her denim jeans with her fingernail.

"There's a reason why they gave him the name. There's a reason why they referred to him as Deep Throat instead of Mark Felt."

Bellamy nodded again and kept his eyes safely on the road.

"To protect him," he said. "Whistle blowers need protection," he said slowly.

"Yeah, they do," she said, her voice tight. She ducked her head and Bellamy squeezed her fingers in encouragement.

"My dad was an engineer," she explained. "He worked on a lot of government accounts. Dams, reservoirs," she paused, "oil rigs."

Bellamy's eyes widened.

"He was leaking documents about negligence in the industry. There were massive investigations going on, especially after the BP oil spill and he offered up what he knew. My mom revealed him as the source. She gave him up. About a week later he turned up dead."

Bellamy breathed hard through his nose and shook his head.

"That's fucking awful," he said and squeezed her hand.

"Yeah," Clarke agreed. She rubbed her eyes against her wrist.

"When was this?" Bellamy asked.

She turned and faced the window again.

"Last year," she said quietly. "A year ago, today, actually."

"Shit, Clarke," he swore, his head swiveling to train his eyes on her.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Shit."

They were silent as Bellamy pulled the car into a u-turn and started to drive towards home.

"I just can't stop moving, you know?"

Bellamy glanced at her and then the rearview mirror where his eye caught on her bag in the backseat. It was, as always, nearly split at the seams and weighted down with textbooks, skates, and trainers.

"I know," he said.

"And its not like-" she paused to drag her sleeve across her cheeks. "It's not like I miss him any more today than I did yesterday," she said. "I miss him all the time."

Bellamy squeezed her hand tighter.

"But I lost her too," Clarke explained. "So now its just keep moving, work hard, get out of this town, get away from my mom," she rhymed off and slumped down in her seat and fell silent.

"Okay," Bellamy nodded. "So we'll keep moving."

IIIIIII

They were already parked in the lot outside Bellamy's building when Bellamy jolted in his seat and turned to look at Clarke.

"Shit, you meant here, right?"

Clarke squinted at him in the dark.

"Your mom," Bellamy explained. "You told her you weren't coming home tonight. I just thought you meant here but uh, I can take you to Raven's or Wells' or wherever," he licked his lips.

"No," Clarke frowned, "I meant here. Unless you think your mom wouldn't be cool with it-"

"She won't even be home," Bellamy rolled his eyes. "But I'm sure she'd be fine."

"If you're sure," Clarke said and swung open the truck door. She dragged her bag out of the backseat and hefted it onto her shoulder.

Bellamy held the door open and followed Clarke up the stairs to his apartment.

"You hungry?" he asked and knocked her elbow.

"Not really," Clarke shrugged. "But would it be alright if I showered?" she asked. "I just feel-" she waved a hand vaguely at her face which was still red and shining from crying.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded, pausing to unlock his front door. "You need pajamas or anything?" he asked.

"I have some clothes," she chewed her lip and tugged at the strap of her bag. "But if O has some shorts or something that'd be cool."

"I'll ask her," he locked the door behind them.

He ushered Clarke into his bedroom and went to knock on Octavia's door.

"Hey," he ducked his head in.

Octavia was lying down on her bed with her elbows propped up and an old Gameboy Colour in hand.

"Hey," she glanced up at him. "Where've you been? I had to feed myself, it was awful."

"I was with Clarke. What'd you eat?"

"Kraft Dinner but I added a shit-ton of hot sauce," she answered. "You guys were at the pond for that long?" Octavia asked, her feet kicked up behind her and her tongue stuck between her teeth while she stared at the screen.

"No," Bellamy nudged his toe against the door frame. "Clarke had a bit of a uh- thing," he said. "She's actually here right now, she's gonna stay over."

Octavia's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, is she?" she grinned. "Does mom know you're having a 'slumber party?'" she made air quotes with her fingers and waggled her eyebrows.

"No," Bellamy huffed. "Can Clarke borrow some of your clothes? She needs pajamas."

"Ew, you want to make-out with your girlfriend while she's wearing my clothes?"

"Octavia," Bellamy growled.

She looked up in surprise, her mouth forming an 'o'.

"Look, she had a bad night," Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck. "This is the furthest fucking thing from hook-up. She's my best friend, okay? And she just really can't be at home with her mom right now."

Octavia tossed her Gameboy aside and stood up.

"Okay, I'll get her pajamas," she declared. "But make sure you get her a fresh pillow case," she said as she started rummaging through her drawers. "Maybe the Lion King one from the closet."

Octavia sent Clarke off to shower with not only pajamas and a giant Minnie Mouse beach towel, but also a lavender body wash she'd been hoarding in her room.

"It's supposed to be relaxing," she explained.

Once Clarke was locked away in the bathroom and they could hear the shower running, Octavia patted Bellamy on the shoulder.

"Think you can take it from here?" she asked.

"Yes, O," he rolled his eyes. "And thank you," he added and ruffled her hair.

"G'night," she kissed his cheek and headed back to her room.

Bellamy was sitting on his bed with his laptop balanced on his knees when Clarke appeared in the doorway with her hair wet and Octavia's butterfly pajama shorts on.

"Hey," Bellamy said.

"Hey," Clarke echoed him and sat down next to him to peek over his shoulder at the computer screen. She twisted her hair between her fingers and shivered. Bellamy leaned across his bed to scoop an Ark Hockey hoodie from his desk chair and then tossed it in her lap. She blinked up at him.

"Are you sure you don't-"

"Just put it on," Bellamy grumbled.

"Thanks," Clarke said and tugged it over her head. The sleeves were too long but she bunched them in her fists and tucked her nose down into the collar.

"What do you feel like?" Bellamy asked. "Do you want to watch something or make tea or listen to a podcast-"

He paused when Clarke's mouth pulled into a smile.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Clarke sniffed and hugged her knees to her chest. "But are those your go-to coping mechanisms?" she asked.

Bellamy shrugged.

"I either go for a run or listen to Dan Carlin's Hardcore History with the sheets pulled over my head," he admitted. "Depends on my sad to angry ratio."

Clarke's lips turned up at the corners again and Bellamy smiled back uncertainly.

"But we can do whatever you want," Bellamy said. "Listen to Tom Waits and cry, go scream in the car, egg your own house-"

Clarke snickered and ducked her head.

"Can we just sit in the dark and watch Star Wars?" she asked.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded, his fingers already tapping out against his keyboard. "That's definitely doable."

He dragged his desk chair over to the edge of the bed and propped up his laptop on a giant hardcover of The Guinness Book of World Records 2010.

"So it doesn't overheat," he explained.

He turned off the lights and they both leaned back against the wall and pulled the blankets up over their laps. Clarke fell asleep before Luke and Han even make it onto the Death Star. Bellamy gave her a gentle shove so she slid down from the wall and laid with her head against his pillow instead. He powered down his laptop and leaned forward to stand up, the mattress shifting beneath him. Clarke stirred but her eyes remained closed. He padded quietly across the room and made it all the way to the door before Clarke sat up.

"Bellamy?" Clarke called in the dark. "Where you going?"

He sighed and returned to sit on the edge of his bed.

"The couch," he whispered. "It's late, I'm going to sleep."

"Ugh," she grunted, "don't be stupid, stay here," she tugged on his sleeve.

He stared at her shadow his eyes not quite adjusted to the dark without the glow of the laptop.

"Okay, fine," he said and settled in on his tiny, single bed.

He stretched out beside her, flat on his back, while she sat up and struggled to wriggle out of his hoodie. She reached towards the foot of the bed to toss his sweater onto his chair and brushed against his shins.

"Bell," she whispered as she leaned back against her pillow. "Do your feet hang off the end of the bed?"

"What?" he hissed back. "No!"

She kicked him.

"Okay, fine," he relented. "Maybe just a little."

"Bellamy!"

She scooted down under the covers and settled on her side with her nose pressed into his shoulder.

"One day I'll get you a king size bed," she said sleepily.

He snickered and pillowed one arm behind his head.

"And why would you get me a king size bed?" he asked.

"Because you deserve it," came her muffled reply.

He smiled in the dark.

"Well, you deserve one too," he responded.

"Nah," Clarke yawned. "I'll just borrow yours."

IIIIII

The next morning, Bellamy woke up on his side with his arm banded tightly around Clarke's waist, her back pressed up to his chest. He winced and pulled his arm away, extricating himself as carefully as possible. He left quickly so he missed it when she frowned in her sleep. He didn't see her roll towards his side of the bed. She woke shortly after and pulled on his hoodie before tiptoeing out of the room to look for him.

Clarke walked into the kitchen to find Bellamy and his mother standing shoulder to shoulder at the stove and talking in hushed voices. Bellamy's brows knitted together as he spoke and Aurora reached up to cradle the back of his head. Bellamy pursed his lips and rolled his eyes but nodded in response.

"Hey," Clarke said from the doorway.

Aurora and Bellamy both swiveled to look at her.

"Good morning," Aurora said. "Are you hungry? I'm making French toast but there's cereal and pop tarts if you want."

Aurora turned and ducked her head into the cupboard. Clarke shot a panicked look at Bellamy but he only smiled and shook his head.

"French toast sounds good," Clarke stammered.

"With maple syrup or cinnamon?" Aurora asked when she'd remerged from the cupboard.

"Maple syrup please," Clarke said.

"Good," Aurora nodded. Then she reached out and took Clarke's hand, pulling her to her side. "I'm glad you stayed last night," she said quietly and squeezed Clarke's hand.

"I want you to know that you can stay here any time you need to, okay?" She looked Clarke in the eye, holding her hand tight while she waited for confirmation.

"Okay," Clarke choked out. "Thank you."

"Good girl," Aurora answered and smacked a kiss against her cheek. "Now go sit down, breakfast is ready."

Clarke smiled and turned towards the table where Bellamy had suddenly become very interested in his cutlery. Clarke pulled her chair out and aimed a loose fist at his kidneys when he didn't look up from his placemat.

"Oof!" he grunted and reflexively flicked her in the head. They both fell still when Aurora set down plates of French toast in front of each of them. Bellamy wordlessly handed Clarke the bottle of maple syrup. She answered by cutting off her crusts and passing them onto his plate. He smiled and took a bite, slouching a little to lean against her shoulder as he ate. Aurora shook her head but said nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke burst through the bedroom door to find Bellamy lying on his bed, with his hands pillowed behind his head while that youtube channel about The Great War rumbled from his laptop speakers.

"Seriously?" Clarke asked. "You're the worst," she said and pushed his feet off the side of the bed so she could sit down.

"Right, sorry," Bellamy said, "Excuse me for existing in my own bedroom."

"Have you even started packing yet?" Clarke asked.

"Sure," Bellamy said and pointed a finger towards a duffel bag laying on the floor in the corner of his room.

Clarke crossed the room to go look into it.

"There's just a sock, your toothbrush, and three fruit-to-go's," Clarke said.

"Shit, really?" Bellamy asked and sat up. "Take the toothbrush out, I'm going to need that tonight and tomorrow morning."

"Bellamy."

"Okay, fine," he stood and stretched his arms out. "But my hockey gear is already packed, I don't really know what else I need besides pajamas."

"Bring a dress shirt and tie," Clarke said.

"Why?"

"What if they want to sign you right there and then?" Clarke asked. "You might need to give a press conference."

"I'm just here so I don't get fined," Bellamy yawned.

"You're going to need so much media training," Clarke wrinkled her nose. "But seriously, the scouts might want to meet with you or take you to dinner to talk about your options. You don't want to show up in sweats and flip flops."

"Maybe they'd like that. Maybe they'd think I'm super chill."

"That's what GMs are looking for," Clarke nodded sagely. "Wingers who are super chill."

They rooted around in Bellamy closet and threw all the clothes they thought he'd need onto the bed. They wasted about half an hour trying to roll all of his outfits into tube socks like Clarke had seen on some lifehack post on tumblr. The sock trick didn't work but it did make all of Bellamy's clothes wrinkly.

"I don't care, at this point, I'm willing to just wear a toga made out of the hotel bedsheets all weekend," Bellamy said as he crumpled one of his t-shirts into a ball and threw it in the duffel bag.

"Okay, but at the very least we need to iron the dress shirt," Clarke said. "This looks ridiculous," she pointed to the collar which had somehow been folded in the opposite direction of it's crease.

Bellamy couldn't remember where his mom stashed the steam iron so they had to improvise.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Bellamy asked.

"Positive," Clarke said as she took a pot of boiling water off the stove. They kneeled on the floor of the kitchen and Clarke carefully pressed the bottom of the pot onto the shirt, smoothing it out from the centre.

"Science," she whispered, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Well," Bellamy said when she was finished, "it's not exactly pressed to perfection but it looks a hell of a lot less like an elephant's asshole."

"Ringing endorsement," Clarke snorted. "Is there anything else we're forgetting?"

Bellamy stood up and tossed the pot in the sink, his mouth twisting.

"I don't think so," he frowned. "As long as I have my skates, my gear, and my jersey, I'm happy."

"How are you getting to school tomorrow?" Clarke asked.

"I was gonna drive," Bellamy said.

"And leave your truck in the school parking lot for three days?" Clarke asked. "My mom's driving me in- you want a ride?"

Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

"Your mom?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Alright, if you're sure," Bellamy shrugged.

"I'm sure," Clarke said. She passed Bellamy his shirt and moved to grab her shoes.

"Just wait, I'll walk you out," Bellamy said. "I'm just going to put this away," he waved his button-up at her.

In the minute it took for him to run to his room and back, Octavia had somehow cornered Clarke in the front hallway.

"I've had better results with squatting than I ever did with sit-ups," Octavia explained, oblivious to Bellamy watching over her shoulder.

"Go ahead. Hit me," she said and patted her own stomach. "I won't feel a thing."

"Octavia!" Bellamy barked.

She jumped and jolted around.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Stop asking people to punch you in the abdomen. That's how Houdini died."

"Bell, that's not even true!"

"It is actually," he said as an aside to Clarke. "I read it in a book once."

Octavia snorted.

"You saw it on some bullshit show on the biography channel."

He turned back to Clarke.

"I saw it on the biography channel."

Clarke snickered and shook her head.

"Okay," Bellamy unlocked the door and jerked it open. "I'll be back in a minute, O. Try not to burn down the house."

"Just your room," Octavia responded. "Bye Clarke."

"Bye."

Bellamy shut the door behind them and waited until he heard Octavia turn the deadbolt locked before he headed towards the stairs.

"You know, I made it up to your apartment on my own just fine when I got here," Clarke said as they reached the steps.

"I know," Bellamy answered. "But its dark out now and this isn't the best neighbourhood."

"I thought you said this place was better than your old neighbourhood."

Bellamy scoffed.

"Pretty much anywhere's better than our old neighbourhood," he said and kicked at a piece of chipped concrete.

Clarke jostled up against his shoulder. He glanced at her before redirecting his gaze to his shoes and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Things were. . .bad then," he shrugged. "My mom had to do a lot of shit just to keep the lights on."

"But she doesn't anymore?" Clarke asked.

"She works her ass off," Bellamy conceded. "But at least she's just cleaning office buildings now. At least she can make rent."

"'What changed?" Clarke asked. "Is it just because you and Octavia started working?"

"That's part of it," Bellamy nodded. "Mom got the cleaning job too. And my grandpa died and left us the truck and enough money to afford first and last month's rent on a new lease."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Clarke pushed the door open to walk out into the parking lot.

"So things are better," Bellamy said, "but we're still living on the south side. I'm still nervous about O walking around here after dark," he said and checked over his shoulder.

"What about you?" Clarke asked, fishing her mom's key fob out of her pocket.

"What about me?" Bellamy asked.

"Are you nervous walking around here after dark?" she asked. "Who's going to walk you back up to the door?"

He shrugged.

"If anyone tries to jump me on the way up the stairs, I have O on speed dial," he smiled. "She'll fly out the door in her gi and drop a guillotine choke on whoever's giving me trouble."

Clarke snorted and got in the car.

"She does have abs of steel," she said. "But still. Text me when you get upstairs."

"Clarke-" Bellamy laughed.

"Just do it," she insisted. "We'll pick you up at quarter to seven tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

His hand twitched by his side and he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

"What?" Clarke asked.

Bellamy wound up his mouth like he was trying not to smile.

"Pittsburgh," he whispered.

Clarke grinned.

"I know," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

IIIIIIII

It was still dark out when Bellamy trudged out of his apartment and into the cold, morning air to meet Clarke in the parking lot.

"Good morning," Abby rolled down her window to chirp from the front seat. "You can probably fit your hockey bag in the trunk but the duffel might have to go in the backseat with you."

Bellamy obediently rounded the back of the car and stuffed his bag in the trunk before cramming into the backseat.

"Thanks for driving me, Dr. Griffin," he said as he clicked on his seatbelt.

"Not a problem," Abby said and smiled at him through the rearview mirror.

Clarke huffed and twisted around in the passenger seat to look at Bellamy. She had a toque pulled over her blond hair and she was hunkered down in an oversized hoodie. His oversized hoodie, he noticed belatedly.

"Hey," she nodded at him.

"Hey," he grunted back.

"Tea," she said and passed him a take-out cup in a cardboard sleeve.

He wrapped his hands around the cup, and pulled it to his chest so he could feel its heat bleed through the front of his sweatshirt. He peeled back the lid and breathed in the steam.

"Honey lemon?" he asked.

"Obviously," Clarke rolled her eyes. She took a long draught of her own cup of tea and gave him a once over.

"You look like shit," she observed.

"Clarke!" Abby admonished.

"Sorry," Clarke said but continued to stare at Bellamy with her eyebrow raised.

Bellamy rubbed his cheek and caught his own reflection in the glare off the window from the streetlights. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced in the shadowy car than they had been in the bathroom mirror earlier that morning.

"I didn't sleep much," he admitted. "But we don't have any games today, just registration so hopefully I can just nap on the bus and still get to bed early tonight."

"Yeah, hopefully," Clarke nodded. "Is that toothpaste on your sweatshirt?"

Bellamy bent over and tugged his sweatshirt away from his chest to inspect.

"Shit," he whispered.

"Stay fresh, Blake," Clarke smirked and twisted back around in her seat.

When they reached the school parking lot, the coach bus was already parked in front of the main entrance.

Bellamy whistled and pressed his face up against the window.

"Thank god," he said, fogging up the glass with his breath. "I thought for sure Jaha was going to make us ride the four hours to Pittsburgh in a school bus."

"There's still time for him to change his mind," Clarke said.

Abby parked the car underneath a street light and they all climbed out to unload the car.

"I don't have to be at work until 8 so I can stick around to help you load all the luggage onto the bus," Abby offered.

"No, we got it," Clarke adjusted the bag strap on her shoulder and looked at the ground. "Thanks for the ride, I'll text you when we get there."

Abby reached for Clarke's shoulders to pull her into a hug but Clarke shrugged away.

"Bye," Clarke said pointedly.

Abby withdrew her hand and inhaled sharply.

"Uh, bye Dr. Griffin, thanks for the ride," Bellamy said and stuck out his hand to shake.

Abby squinted at him but took his hand and pulled him closer.

"You'll watch out for her?" she asked him, her voice low and her eyes darting back to Clarke.

"Yeah, of course," Bellamy swallowed.

"Good," Abby said and squeezed his hand. She took a step back and waved at the both of them. "I'll pick you up here on Sunday night," she said. And with that she turned and got back in her car.

Bellamy watched her go and hitched his bag up further on his shoulder.

"Well, that was awkward," he muttered.

Clarke elbowed him in the ribs and turned towards the bus.

"I can't believe you shook her hand."

"I panicked," he admitted. "I almost hugged her but caught myself at the last second."

Soon enough, members of the skate team and the hockey team started pulling up in the parking lot, bleary-eyed and sporting pajamas or sweat pants. Somehow, they managed to pack all of the duffel bags and hockey bags and luggage carriers into the cargo hold. Mr. Kane and Mr. Sinclair leaned against the side of the bus sipping coffee and counting heads as they walked on.

"Alright," Mr. Kane shouted when everyone was seated. "We're going to drive for about two hours and then make a pit stop so this is really your last chance to go to the bathroom," he looked up and down the aisle.

"Does everyone have everything? Ice skates? Cell phone? Wallet?"

Everyone started talking at once, some affirming Mr. Kane's questions but most just chattering excitedly and bouncing in their seats.

"Okay," Mr. Kane dragged a hand down his cheek. "I guess we're ready to go."

The bus lurched forward and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Jasper," Mr. Kane called out. "The floor's all yours."

Jasper Jordan stood to his feet and loped to the front of the bus.

"Alright everyone," he called out. "We have a long ride ahead of us but lucky for you, Mr. Kane entrusted me with providing the entertainment for this trip."

"He volunteered," Mr. Kane interrupted. "I just gave him permission."

"Anyway," Jasper soldiered on, "This coach bus is blessed with not only a TV but also the finest DVD player money can buy."

"No one cares!"

"I've hand selected our first feature film so strap in because its going to be a wild ride."

"We're on a bus, Jasper, there's no seatbelts."

"I meant figuratively," Jasper smiled and nodded his head. "Although this next film might literally blow your mind."

"Oh my god."

"Alright," he grinned. "Get ready. For a knee-slapping story about Jack: the rookie player who skates a little faster, shoots a little harder, and is driving everyone BANANAS."

"Jesus Christ," Bellamy swore. "If he says MVP, I'm going to lose it-"

"MVP. Most Valuable Primate."

"Jasper, no."

"Come on."

"We're not watching this bullshit for four hours."

"Well obviously not," Jasper scoffed, "MVP is only a 93 minute movie. That leaves us enough time for The Mighty Ducks, Miracle, The Mighty Ducks Two, Blades of Glory and Remember the Titans."

"Remember the Titans is a football movie."

"Yeah," Jasper agreed, "but it's a really good football movie."

Bellamy sighed and closed his eyes.

"I can't take this," he whispered. "Not again."

"Again?" Clarke asked.

"Octavia might have gone through a phase. An Air Bud phase," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I only have a port for one set of headphones so you're on your own for this one," he said and pulled a cracked mp3 player out of his pocket.

"That bad?" Clarked asked.

Bellamy quirked an eyebrow.

"You said podcasts were your go-to coping mechanism," Clarke reminded him. "We're like 37 seconds into this trip and you're already bringing out the heavy artillery."

"I don't think you fully understand the trauma I suffered during Octavia's Air Bud phase," Bellamy said. "I don't think you fully appreciate that it was my job to beta her Air Bud fanfiction."

Clarke clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled.

"Yeah," Bellamy said wearily. "I'll see you on the other side, Clarke. Wake me up when he puts on The Mighty Ducks." And with that, he put his headphones on, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

By the time Jasper was swapping out MVP for Blades of Glory, Bellamy had passed out quite comfortably. In his sleep, he'd slumped down in his seat with his legs sprawled out and his head lolled against Clarke's shoulder. His heavy breaths tickled her neck. She sat very still and only moved to wake him up when the bus pulled into a rest stop off the highway.

"Where are we?" he blinked awake, his hair a mess and his voice low and gravelly.

"Somewhere in Ohio," Clarke answered.

She shifted out from underneath his weight and stood up, stretching until her joints popped.

"Snack time?" Bellamy asked behind a yawn.

"Yeah," Clarke nodded. "Come on, if we hurry we might be able to make it in before McDonald's stops serving breakfast."

"Fuck," Bellamy muttered and jumped to his feet before launching himself into the aisle.

"Let's go!" he shouted at the line-up of people clogging the aisle ahead of them.

The rest of the drive went by in a similar fashion. The students intermittently napped, chomped down on junk food, watched Jasper's horrible movies, and occasionally had moments of stir-crazy madness. Mr. Kane and Mr. Sinclair sat at the front of the bus throwing back cups and cups of coffee. When they finally passed the City of Pittsburgh road sign, the kids shook each other awake and crowded around the windows.

"Do you think we'll see Sidney Crosby?" Miller asked with his nose fogging up the glass.

"No, the Pens have a game in Tampa Bay tonight, I already checked," Bellamy answered.

The bus pulled into a Quality Inn and everyone scrambled to unload their bags from the cargo holds. Check-in was an absolute nightmare with kids carrying hockey bags and skates swarming the lobby. Ark High School wasn't the only school with teams staying at the hotel- it was packed with student athletes from all over. A teenage boy walked by carrying a curling broom and Clarke elbowed Bellamy to point him out. Bellamy's eyes flicked from the broom to Clarke and he burst out laughing.

"Does this look like a curling broom to you?" she imitated him in a low voice.

"Jesus, I completely forgot about that," he said.

"Repressed memory," Clarke raised her eyebrows.

After check-in at the hotel, there was tournament registration at the arena. The entire team had to get back on the bus and ride to the arena where they lined up behind a fold-out table.

"Name?" demanded a disgruntled woman sitting behind the table.

"Bellamy Blake."

"Student ID," she asked without looking up from her laptop.

Bellamy fumbled with his wallet before sliding his ID across the table. The woman's fingers clicked away loudly at her keyboard as she entered his information.

"Ark High hockey team?" she asked.

"Uh, yes," Bellamy cleared his throat. "And also the Ark High skate team."

The clacking stopped and she looked up.

"Are you fooling around?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," Bellamy shook his head. "I'm on both- I'm competing for the Ark High hockey team and the skate team."

The woman raised her eyebrows and looked back at the computer screen.

"Well, alright," she said.

"Excuse me," Clarke said from somewhere near Bellamy's shoulder. "I just wanted to double check. None of his events conflict?"

The woman huffed and ruffled through her papers before pulling out the event schedule.

"Which events are you skating in?" she asked.

"The pairs original dance," Bellamy answered.

The woman uncapped a highlighter and circled a square on the schedule.

"That's the original dance," she explained. "It doesn't overlap with any of your games."

"What if he wins?" Clarke asked. "What if the hockey team makes it to the semis or the finals?"

"Nope," the woman shook her head and passed Bellamy the schedule. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other and grinned.

"Alright," Clarke nodded her head as they walked away. "All that's left to do now is skate."

IIIII

But skating proved to be no short order. The following day was jam-packed with events. The hockey team was up bright and early for their first game at 8 o'clock and they had two more games scheduled later in the day. The boys ran across the street to Giant Eagle in between games so they could stock up on food.

"Just eat something light in between games," Mr. Kane begged. "Fruit and cereal. You can eat pizza when you're done for the night."

Bellamy loaded up on Gatorade, apples, and All-Bran bars. He had wanted to slip away to the figure skating rink to watch Clarke's long program but after his second game he was so tired that he ended up napping in Murphy's hotel room with his water bottle still in his hands. Luckily, Miller was on top of things and went around knocking on doors to get the team up for their last game of the day. Bellamy felt a little groggy from his nap but by the time he reached the arena, the cold air snapped him awake and the adrenaline of playing in front of scouts perked him up.

He was dead on his feet when the team went for a late dinner at the hotel restaurant. He inhaled a bowl of pasta and trudged upstairs to his room. Jasper and Monty were already there, sitting side by side on one double bed with the sheets pulled up to their chins and watching American Ninja Warrior on TV. Bellamy brushed his teeth and settled in on his own double bed.

"How are you still up?" Nathan asked when he came in.

"I'm hydrating," Bellamy said and shook his water bottle around.

"Right," Nathan raised an eyebrow as he climbed into bed beside Bellamy. "You're definitely not waiting for Clarke to get back."

"Nope," Bellamy said without looking away from the TV.

Nathan charlie horsed him with a punch to the thigh.

"Fine," Bellamy relented. "I want to know how her skate went."

"And?" Nathan prompted.

"And what?" Bellamy asked.

Nathan looked down at his hands, a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

"And you haven't seen her all day," he said pointedly.

Bellamy scowled but before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in!" Jasper called from where he was tucked into bed.

The door swung open to reveal Clarke standing in the doorframe.

"Hey," she smiled and strode into the room. She paused at the foot of Bellamy's bed and put her hands on her hips.

"Hey," Bellamy echoed her. He elbowed Miller in the ribs and they both scooted over to make space for her.

"How'd you guys do?" Clarke asked. She slid in beside Bellamy, stretching out her legs and bumping her shoulder against his.

"Good," he nodded. "Won our first game, tied the second, and won the last," he rhymed off on his fingers.

"Where's that put you for tomorrow?"

"Second place so we're guaranteed at spot in the semi-final."

"Score any goals?" Clarke asked.

"Three," Bellamy grinned widely.

"And he made two assists," Nathan chimed in.

"It was a good day," Bellamy smiled down at his lap. "Too bad you missed the games."

"I know," Clarke pulled a face. "But Charlotte was really nervous, I told her I'd stay and coach her through her routines. She skated well enough anyway. And Raven killed her solo routine."

"How'd your solo go?"

"It was good," Clarke said. She bit her lip. "I landed the triple salchow."

"You went for it?!" Bellamy grabbed her knee and shook it.

She grinned and bobbed her head up and down.

"I wasn't going to," she admitted. "But I saw a scout in the crowd and I just thought I'd go for it."

"You're fucking crazy," Bellamy shook his head. "How'd you know it was a scout?"

"I didn't really," Clarke shrugged. "I'm just pretty sure she was a scout. I was scanning the crowd all morning- they're not hard to spot. They always have clipboards and usually wear ball caps."

Bellamy snickered.

"You were looking for them?"

"You weren't?" Clarke fired back.

"No!" Bellamy laughed. "I was trying to pretend we were on home ice."

"But that takes all the pressure off!"

"Well, yeah," Bellamy agreed. "That's the point."

"Hmph," Clarke crossed her arms. "I like the pressure," she insisted. "Makes it do or die."

"You're insane," Bellamy affirmed. Clarke pinched his arm. "I mean, I love you, but you're insane."

Clarke's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to retort but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Alright, boys. Light's out in five minutes," Mr. Kane said from the door. "Miss Griffin," he bristled. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Clarke waved him off. "Sorry, I'll be in my room in five," she said and turned back towards Bellamy. "You didn't even scan the crowd once?" she asked.

"Clarke," Mr. Kane intoned. "You'll get to your room now."

Clarke looked up sharply and Bellamy cocked his head. Nathan only smirked.

"But I thought we had five minutes?"

Mr. Kane rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You're not supposed to be here," he explained. "You can fraternize in common spaces like the hallway or lobby. But you can't hang out in the boys' hotel room, the PTA would have my head."

"Oh," Clarke blinked. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hopped down. "Right. Well I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said and swatted at Bellamy's feet.

"Alright, see ya," Bellamy kicked her hand back.

She walked out and Mr. Kane shot a pointed look at Bellamy before shutting off the light and closing the door behind him. Nathan started snickering as soon as the door shut.

"You two are ridiculous."

"What?" Bellamy asked defensively and slouched down into his pillows.

"She was fucking shocked she wasn't allowed to stick around here and snuggle."

"Shut up," Bellamy said. "We weren't snuggling. Besides, I don't see why she's gotta leave but you're allowed to share a room with Monty," he dropped his voice to a whisper.

Nathan rolled over and scoffed into his pillow.

"Yeah, tell me more about how much easier I have it as a gay male in high school."

"I envy you," Bellamy deadpanned and was immediately walloped in the chest by Miller's fist.

They both broke into giggles that they unsuccessfully tried to smother in their pillows.

"Lights out," Mr. Kane's voice called from the hall.

They quieted and Bellamy reached for his cellphone to triple check that he'd set an alarm for the next morning.

Clarke Griffin  
10:33 pm:  
I said a silent prayer to Ovi asking him to help you play well in the semi tomorrow.

Bellamy Blake  
10:35 pm:  
Blasphemy. There is only one god and his name is Sidney Crosby.

Clarke Griffin  
10:36 pm:  
Your love of canadian athletes is disturbing and frankly un-American.

Bellamy Blake  
10:36 pm:  
ya well if its wrong to love virtue and moir then I don't want to be right

Clarke Griffin  
10:37 pm:  
you're the worst

Clarke Griffin  
10:39 pm:  
good night bell

Bellamy Blake  
10:40 pm:  
good night

IIIIIIII

The next morning found Bellamy back on the ice for not only the semi-final game but also the final game. He tried not to scan the crowd but it was like his eyes were magnetized to anyone in the stands wearing a baseball cap. After the puck dropped, he was all focus. The final game was hard fought and long. Their opponent was an undefeated school from a big hockey town in upstate New York. Their team captain was rumoured to be a first round draft pick next year and he'd attended camps with both the New York Islanders and the Washington Caps. Bellamy put it out of his mind and just kept grinding at centre ice. Ark High went down a goal in the second period but Bellamy scored in the third to tie it up. The game went to overtime and Bellamy created a few chances but ultimately the team ended up losing in penalty shootouts.

"Good game," Miller caught him by the shoulders as they were skating off the ice.

"You too," Bellamy grunted and clapped him on the back.

"Hey," Miller said, "you did everything you were supposed too do."

Bellamy tilted his head and frowned.

"I was supposed to win," he protested.

"You won three," Miller reminded him.

"And you played the maximum number of games in the tournament," a voice called out.

Bellamy looked up to see Monty sitting in the stands behind the bench.

"So you maximized the amount of time that the scouts could watch you," he said.

Bellamy ducked his head and nodded.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "What are you doing here? Have you been here the whole time?" he asked.

"Yeah," Monty answered. "I had time after my solo so I wanted to watch the game," he explained with pink creeping up his neck.

"Did Clarke catch any of it?" Bellamy asked.

"No," Monty shook his head. "She had to coach Charlotte through her routines again."

Bellamy nodded again and left Monty and Miller alone to talk. He waited around the rink, staring hopefully up at the stands but he couldn't spot any of the scouts. Before the tournament, he and Clarke had written letters to school coaches and mailed off their SAT scores. Still, Bellamy had copies of his player profile and his SAT scores in his bag in the locker room. He wondered if he should go and get them and just chase down anyone wearing a baseball cap. He was just about to grab them when Mr. Kane approached.

"Hey," he said and put a hand on Bellamy's shoulder. "Good game today, son."

"Thanks," Bellamy said. "Did anyone- did anyone talk to you?" he asked.

Mr. Kane was wearing an Ark High Hockey jacket and Bellamy hoped that he was visible enough for coaches to find and approach during the games.

"No," Mr. Kane shook his head. "But you're registered in the tournament and your name and number were up on the board plenty of times this weekend since you scored so much. If the scouts want to contact you, they'll have no trouble getting in touch."

"Really?" Bellamy asked.

"Definitely," Mr. Kane said. "It's part of the registration process. All of the scouts receive a team roster and the schools' contact information before the tournament starts."

Bellamy sighed in relief.

"Now, what time are you skating with Clarke?" Mr. Kane asked.

"3:30," Bellamy said swiped sweat off his brow.

"Then you've got a little over an hour," Mr. Kane checked his watch. "You'd best shower up and get ready."

Bellamy barely had time to shower, eat, and change into his ice dancing costume. It wasn't so much a costume as a white, collared shirt and black trousers but it was more formal than anything he'd had to wear to hockey. All too soon, his hour was up and he was standing at the figure skating rink with Clarke, waiting for their turn to go out and skate the pairs original dance. Bellamy's face was sheet white. He was staring at the ice, his eyes wide and dark and distant.

"Hey," Clarke tugged at his sleeve. "Quit gaping, relax," she rubbed a hand up and down his arm.

"I'm gonna drop you," he said, his eyes never leaving the ice.

"Stop," Clarke grabbed both of his arms and wrenched him towards her. "Don't be stupid, you haven't dropped me once yet, you're not going to do it now."

"What am I doing," he whispered.

"You're gonna be great," Clarke insisted. "You were clean in practice and in warm-ups and-"

He gripped her arms and squeezed til she fell silent. "What if I mess this up for you? What if I hurt you and you can't even skate in your short dance?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"You won't," she squeezed back. "Stop worrying. Pretend we're going out for a hockey game, alright? You've practiced; you've put the work in, just trust the training. Okay?"

He nodded shakily.

"And hey," she said and squeezed his arms again. "No matter what happens out there-" she faltered, her eyes searching his face but for once, she was at a loss for words. She flung her arms around him in a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He stood with his hands held out at his side, momentarily shocked. After a beat he raised his arms and wrapped them around her tightly.

"Clarke?" Raven called out. "You're on in 30 seconds."

"Alright," Clarke breathed and relinquished her grip. She straightened the collar on Bellamy's shirt and then smoothed out her skirt.

The announcer called out their names and she took Bellamy's hand and led him out onto the ice. She did a tiny twirl and shot him a smile before taking her starting position. He returned the smile uncertainly and took his place behind her, setting his hands on her hips. But then the music started and his nerves melted away- it was all automatic. Trust the training she'd said and that was all it took. He knew the steps, he knew the lifts, it was all just routine. It felt just like practice- the only difference was that Clarke had traded in her standard underarmour leggings and tank top for tights and a blue dress.

Before he knew it, the program was over. The music stopped and Bellamy and Clarke froze in place in their final pose. There was a beat and then the crowd broke out into polite applause. Clarke whipped around and hooked an arm around Bellamy's waist.

"Perfect!" she grinned and slapped him on the chest. "You were perfect!"

He caught her hand in his and squeezed her fingers.

"I had a good coach," he shrugged but he was beaming too.

"Those were some textbook twizzles, Blake!" she crowed.

With her hand still in his, they skated back to the gate and exited the rink. They were putting on their skate guards when a woman holding a phone walked up.

"Hi," she said brightly. "Great skate!"

"Thanks," Clarke replied and shot a nervous look at Bellamy.

"Is it true that this was your first time ice dancing?" the woman asked Bellamy.

"Uhh, yeah," Bellamy responded.

"And you're also the captain of the Ark High hockey team that made it to the tournament finals?"

"Yup," Bellamy answered. "Also true."

"Wow," the woman nodded. "Do you mind if I just ask you two a couple of questions? We'd love to run a story about you for the Post-Gazette."

Bellamy exchanged a look with Clarke and she raised an eyebrow. A story in the newspaper couldn't be a bad way to gain the scouts' attention.

"Sure," Bellamy said. "What do you want to know?"

IIIIIIIII

The ride home was considerably quieter than the ride to Pittsburgh. The hockey team had played five games over the course of the weekend and they were knackered. Nobody even had the energy to complain about Jasper's movie choices. Everyone just passed out with open mouths and their coats draped over themselves like blankets.

Bellamy sat sideways in his seat with his legs stuck out in the aisle and his head tipped back against Clarke's shoulder. Clarke fell asleep halfway through Blades of Glory with her temple leaned up against his head and her hands lost in the long sleeves of his hoodie.

The coming weeks were tense. Bellamy checked his e-mail several times a day to see if the coaches had reached out. He made a habit of going into Mr. Kane's classroom at lunch to ask if any scouts had contacted the school.

"Do you think it'd be too much if I just started showing up at Michigan's practices?" Bellamy asked one afternoon after school.

Clarke looked up from her math problem set to shoot Bellamy a look.

"Not in my gear!" he said. "I'm not an idiot! Just, you know- I could sit in the stands. Show commitment or something."

Clarke chewed on the end of her pencil.

"Maybe. I'd start with an e-mail first," she said. "But give it another week. The tournament was last weekend, they might be reviewing the tape or putting together an offer, who knows?"

"Okay," Bellamy nodded.

"Besides, they probably have ice time at the same time as us," Clarke reasoned. "You'd be better off to keep practicing and keep playing well in your season games. Wouldn't want to cut practice to watch someone else practice."

"Right," Bellamy agreed. "And you're sure you haven't heard anything back yet?" he asked.

"For the last time, Bellamy!" Clarke slammed her pencil down. "I'll tell you as soon as I hear anything."

"Okay!" Bellamy raised his hands. "I'm just saying, I'm not going to be upset if you hear back and I don't! I want you to get a scholarship, I'm going to be happy for you whether I have one or not!"

Clarke's face softened.

"I know, Bell," she said. "Trust me. I couldn't keep it a secret from you if I tried."

It turned out she was right. The following Tuesday, Bellamy surreptitiously checked his phone during class to see a frantic text from Clarke.

Clarke Griffin  
1:47 pm:  
COACH CALLED ME TODAY. MEET ME AT MY LOCKER AFTER CLASS.

Bellamy jolted so badly that he practically threw his phone across the room. It skittered across the floor and he had to sheepishly get up and retrieve it while his English teacher scowled. He barely made it through class without twitching non-stop and staring at the clock. When the bell rang, he tripped in his haste to get up and started running as soon as he reached the hallway. He got to Clarke's locker before she did and bounced on the balls of his feet, his heart pounding.

He was happy for her. But there was a chance that some big school from out of state had offered her a fat scholarship and they'd take her away. He craned his neck to see over the crowd of students milling the halls and he caught sight of a flurry of blonde hair.

"Bellamy!" she called when she spotted him.

She leapt at him and threw her arms around his neck. He staggered backwards at the force of the impact and just barely managed to catch her around the waist.

"Full-ride!" she beamed up at him. "Between my academic scholarship and the athletic scholarship, Michigan's giving me a free-ride!"

Bellamy didn't even have time to respond because she surged up and kissed him, her lips crashing into his. His eyebrows raised in surprise but he only took a second to recover from the shock. He lifted her off the ground in his haste to kiss her back. His lips pressed against hers, feverish and eager, like he'd been waiting for this.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Bellamy dropped his head onto Clarke's shoulder.

"University of Michigan?" he asked against her ear.

"Yes," she said, her hands squeezing his shoulders tighter.

"Thank god," he sighed and melted into her further. "Please tell me this wasn't just because you're happy about your scholarship," he muttered as an afterthought.

"No," Clarke laughed. "I mean I am happy about my scholarship," she amended. "But I've wanted to do this for weeks. I just didn't want to start anything until I knew we'd be going to school in the same state."

"Clarke," Bellamy head butted her. "It wouldn't have mattered where you went to school," he pulled back to look at her. "You're my best friend."

"Oh," Clarke said and her face fell.

"No, Clarke," he laughed and couldn't help but press another quick kiss to her lips.

"You're my best friend and I love you," he explained.

"Oh," she said again, a smile breaking across her face. "Good."

She fisted his shirt in her hands and stepped up on tip toe to kiss him again more thoroughly. Her lips were soft and sure against his and always pushing to be closer, to have more of him.

The bell rang and Bellamy pulled away, groaning when Clarke chased his mouth.

"I have a history test this period," he explained and leaned his forehead against Clarke's.

"Okay," Clarke leaned back and tugged on his hair, her lips looking red and swollen. "After your game tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled and kissed her hair while squeezing her around the waist. He released her and set her down flat on her feet.

"I'll see you later," he promised.

"Later," Clarke agreed. His hand trailed down her arm to catch her fingers as he walked away.

"Bellamy!" she caught hold of his hand.

He turned, eyebrows raised.

"I love you too," she said.

He grinned all the way to history class.

IIIIIII

Clarke didn't see Bellamy until later that night when she walked into the arena to watch his game. She spotted Raven, Monty, Finn, and Charlotte sitting together behind the team bench and she sidled in to sit next to them.

"Hey," Raven smiled. "He's been looking for you," she nodded at Bellamy.

Clarke's cheeks pinked and she turned to watch Bellamy on the bench. He was standing with Miller, facing the ice, but there was no mistaking his unruly hair or his broad shoulders, or the studious tilt of his head as he bent over his yellow legal pad.

One of his teammates nudged him on the arm and he turned around, a smile breaking across his face as he saw her.

"Clarke," he grinned. "You finally made it out to watch a game, huh?"

She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"I figured I better," she said. "I mean, I am dating the captain."

He bit back on a smile and nodded, the look on his face making Clarke feel like her heart might burst. .

The referee blew his whistle and called the captains to center ice.

Bellamy glanced at the ref and then back at Clarke.

"Wish me luck," he said, big, dark eyes gazing up at her expectantly.

She pursed her lips, fighting a smile off her face.

"Good luck."

He ducked his head and smiled before vaulting himself over the boards. Clarke watched him skate to center ice and come to a neat stop in front of the ref. He pulled his glove off to shake hands. He won the coin toss and within seconds the game was starting. Clarke didn't know hockey but she did know sports. And Bellamy was good.

He always brought it to practices- practice the way you play! he always screamed at his teammates. But he had a different sort of intensity in a game. He skated fast, he hit hard, his stick handling was second to none and he had a keen tactical awareness. Factoring in the additional figure skating practices had only improved his stamina, strength, and balance (not to mention, made him a more precise skater). Halfway through the second period he dangled the goalie for a slick goal. He threw his arms in the air and was promptly bear hugged by several teammates. When he broke free from the crowd he skated away and started rotating on one blade.

"Oh my god," Clarke muttered.

Laughter broke out among the figure skaters sitting to her right.

"Is he. . ."

"He's doing twizzles," Clarke confirmed and shook her head in disbelief. "And he's nailing them."

He skated past her seat, doing a counter turn as he went and blowing her a kiss.

"Oh my god," she said again as the girls around her erupted into giggles. Red crept into her cheeks but this time she couldn't fight the smile off her face.

Idiot.

The ref blew his whistle again to call the teams to centre ice for the puck drop. Clarke glanced up at the clock and her eye caught on someone in crowd. Someone wearing a baseball cap, holding a clipboard, and taking notes. Clarke sucked in a deep breath and grabbed a hold of Raven's arm, her fingers like pincers.

"Ow!" Raven cried. "What? The play hasn't even restarted yet!"

"Scout!" Clarke said and flung a finger out to point at him.

"Shit!" Raven said. "You have to tell Blake so he'll stop doing fucking twizzles when he scores!"

Clarke looked at the clock and shook her head.

"It'd make him nervous," she said. "And he's playing so well. You really think the twizzles will be a dealbreaker?" she asked.

"No way," Monty shook his head. "An asset, if anything."

Clarke twisted her gloves in her hands until the final whistle. When Bellamy left the bench to head into the tunnel, she hung over the stands to reach for him.

"Bel-" she said seriously.

"Hey princess," he grinned and arched up towards her.

"Hey," she grabbed him roughly by the scruff of his jersey. "There's a scout here, so look alive," she said into his ear.

"What?" Bellamy yelped. "Really?!" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Yes," she nodded and kissed him quick. "Go shower. He'll find you."

Bellamy took a deep breath to steady himself and squeezed Clarke's fingers.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, thank you."

He kissed her cheek distractedly and then toddled down the tunnel in his skates.

Clarke watched him go and then shot up. She raced across the bleachers, pushing through the crowd of spectators to reach the lobby. Still, it took her a few minutes to get through the crowd and to navigate the hallways of the rink. By the time she reached the home team change room, Bellamy was already outside with the scout. Clarke squinted to read the embroidery on the man's jacket. She thought she could make out the words University of Michigan in bright yellow stitching. The man was talking to Bellamy and Bellamy was nodding along fervently. Then the man reached out and shook Bellamy's hand. Bellamy grinned from ear to ear. The man clapped him on the back and walked off. Clarke immediately ran up.

"Well?" she asked.

Bellamy shook himself as if in a daze.

"He wants me to come out to camp," he said and stared after the man exiting the hall. "He saw me play in the showcase so he came out to the game to take another look."

"And?!" Clarke prompted.

Bellamy smiled.

"He says I'm a technically gifted skater with great leadership skills and if I click with the boys at camp then he wants me on the team."

Clarke thumped him on the chest and beamed so bright it was blinding.

"So you're a wolverine?" she asked.

"Not yet," Bellamy smiled again. "But almost."

IIIIIII

Clarke breathed deep, her breath fogging out in front of her in the cold, Ann Arbor air. She tilted her head up and caught sight of the blue and maize banners hanging from the rafters. She skated to the huge blue M at centre ice and turned in a slow circle before pumping her legs and speeding off down the ice. She launched herself in the air and pulled her arms to her chest, spinning 2, 3 times before landing on one blade.

"Good, Clarke!" her coach's voice rang out. "But try to get that leg a little higher on the landing."

Clarke nodded and squared her shoulders before lining up to try the jump again.

A whistle blew and the distinctive sound of skates thudding against the flat floor pitter-pattered from the tunnel.

"6:30, time's up!" a voice barked from the bench. "Everybody off the ice!"

Clarke turned to see the entire hockey team waiting on the bench. She skated across the ice to the gate. The boys shuffled past her and entered the rink. Except one, who stopped as he passed her.

"Cutting into our time again, princess?" Bellamy asked, his eyes impossibly dark in contrast with his bright yellow practice jersey.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Clarke answered.

He smiled and placed a warm hand on her waist before leaning down to kiss her soundly.

"I'll see you after class, okay?" he asked when he pulled away.

"Okay," Clarke smiled.

He kissed her once more and then broke away to skate out onto the ice.

Clarke lingered by the boards to watch him warm up before heading out to the locker room to get ready for class. He was skating laps with the other boys but after a whole season of training together, he was easy to pick out. On his third lap, he caught her eye as he skated past and threw himself into the perfect layback spin. His teammates threw their heads back and laughed. Clarke smiled and shook her head and wondered how the hell she got so lucky.


End file.
